verisimilitude
by SebonzaMitsuki27
Summary: DemyxLarxene. Collection. Exploring the bonds of dynamism between them.
1. i

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**12. nine** ( muse – _in your world _)

Nine. An unlucky number that promises pain and distress, fear and despair.

He wondered why she is fascinated with him, a girl with the power of elusive lightning, her thoughts always a myriad of unsung melodies, a jaunty tune that holds a macabre beat, eyes of sapphire glinting morbidly at him, mischievously sticking her tongue out.

He wonders why she likes him. Him, a creature of the mad and ethereal sea that can not be held, that distorts with different names and aliases, the current constantly changing and dancing to an offbeat rhythm. Forever altering, promising tales of romance and secrets, while taking away the life of sailors cherished by their wives; flowing and ebbing, waxing and waning, weeping a sorrowful tune for being so benevolent and judgemental. He is unpredictable, slipping away like grains of sand beneath her elf-like feet.

The lightning too is a force to be reckoned with, one similarity with the swirling water, forging their paths. Unstable misfits, two peas in a pod, one who brings pain wherever they go, the other who inflicts it as a reflex action. Both knew they were disliked, but both refuse to reform to the demand – keeping their beliefs close to them, confiding only to each other.

Demyx wonders why Larxene never feared him, why she never draws away from him. What did his number, unfortunate as it is, mean to her?

Her mouth, cruel but witty and a lover of bending words, curves, amused by the very notion of the question. "It's a number that drew me to you. A number that made us meet."

"Above all," and the Nocturne can not help but grin, as quick as fleeting as lightning itself, their joke eternal. "The number nine…"

Cursed. It sounds like pain. It sounds like fear. Forever.

"… is my lucky number."

_i_

**37. misery** ( the calling – _wherever you will go )_

Demyx hates being alone. That is partly the reason why he focuses on the music he creates, perfecting it to his very best, trying to create his legacy – something to remember him by in the haunted grounds of white floors and white washed walls.

But when Larxene is with him, there is no need to spend time to harness his lyrical gift which he spent countless hours to write. She is loud enough for the both of them, ranging from her quiet breaths to loud gasps after an exhilarating time to 'inspire' him; her mockery often changed, varying in tempo, from quick to slow, and altering from _forte_ to _piano_, acting whichever emotion which suits her best in that moment. Everything is precise in her presence, and nothing could destroy the ghostly waltz that flits from a blink, to a snap, to a kiss, to a twirl, to a dip, eventually resting in his arms.

But she runs, always loving the retreating options, not to break his heart, but to experience the freedom that the carnal desire in her longs for. She never guesses that she'll hear the melody wafting through the rumbling fields of ivory laced flowers, his voice humming a song that entrances her long enough to dance and graceful move to his beat, while maintaining her own beat, that rebellious twist of freedom. And when he lures her enough to stay, he would tempt her with a playful kiss, each one emitting a different sound, a different reaction.

Until she runs away again.

He would follow her to the ends of the earth, because as long as he is with her, the misery of loneliness disappeared through the drifting sea and shooting stars of lightning tangos that twisted and abruptly changed their direction under a brilliant night sky. She would run away with his heart, certain that he'd chase her, not for his heart, but for hers. He had no idea that he already had it, the very reason why she returns back to him. He holds her heart in folds of whispering sea shells and sediments, the sounds of waves overlapping each other.

So she runs, and he pursues, their very intimate game of cat and mouse.

And wherever she goes, he would be right behind her.

Because with her, he is not alone.

_i_

**25. switch **( breaking benjamin – _diary of jane _)

She tries to convince herself that she hated him with all her being as the blue clock ticks by, seconds drawn out like kunais acutely changing their angles to reach her targets. She still doesn't know why she does this – sneaking out before the chimes of the grandfather clock strike twelve and boom through the echoing walls of the World That Never Was, and collapsing herself on the bed trying to immerse herself with his smell, musty and soothing, that smoothed out the erratic currents that resided within her as she tried to remember that she didn't like him any more. His room, which defied the white and cleanliness that their fortress held with its messy floor and painted walls, was the only thing she had to remember the rebellious Nocturne.

As each second passed, she forgot a little bit more; each time she inhaled his scent faded and her reasons crumbled to darkness.

The door quietly opened and Larxene sat up, holding her tongue, quivering in anger at what he had done. She was going to murder that sneaky—

"Larxene. I found you." And everything changed. Because it was _Axel._ "I'm… Something happened."

A crackle of lightning snaps in her eyes, narrowing at his words, barely veering off an apology. _Why?_ What had he _done?_ She restrains herself, trying not to reach up and grab that thick leather coat and shake him while sending volts of her volatile electrical anger into his skinny corpse, shouting into his bony ears. No, instead, she calms herself, recalling that Axel required patience and banter, treating him as if there was a strategic chess piece in a game. _Axel_ was there. He brought news – good news, right?

"What?" Crisply, she asks, aiming straight to the point, enunciating every syllable. "What do you want?"

"Castle Oblivion has fallen." Axel pauses, shielded by darkness, his location unknown. "Marluxia… Zexion… Vexen…Lexaeus—" He cut to the point. Blunt and brutal. "Demyx is dead."

A pause. Far too long to be considered normal; far too long for the lightning to snap back, far too long for the thunder to howl. Axel said nothing, awaiting her words, bitter, tortuous, angry as they might be. He had played his part in the stage, now she must play hers.

"Get out." She hisses, inhumane eyes flickering to luminosity, her tone unwelcome and out for blood – for death, to kill. "Get the fuck out, _Axel._" The Superior would have her head if she decides to plot treason, especially after this recent debacle.

"He was innocent—only Marluxia…" The fire Nobody tries to explain, weakly, before realizing that he had lost the battle, his shoulder slumping. "I tried… but he… it was too late."

Letting out a raw scream, the Savage Nymph forces an electrical bulb explode, the broken shards cutting across Number Eight's flesh, slithering in blood, an ironic resemblance of her broken heart. She knew Axel wouldn't lie, not to her, only confirming what she had suspected. She knew—

Axel is already gone, leaving her to her twisted thoughts. Furiously, she blinks, trying not to succumb to the torrid of tears that were to come. She'd still mourn, even if she didn't have a heart.

She knew she shouldn't have let Demyx steal away her fears and doubts with playful kisses, puppy-dog eyes and plenty of teasing. She knew she shouldn't have stopped herself from telling that she… as he left one last time, as her stomach churns in anxiety, something amiss.

She knew that she should have gone to Castle Oblivion instead of him.

_i_

**96. catching dreams **( panic at the disco – _she had the world _)

She thought she had everything, until she met Demyx.

A cute nose, a pouty smile, eyes that glittered and resembled the bewitching night sky, skin as pale as the finest white rose, hair that was as soft as silk and as golden as butter. Wasn't that perfection enough?

She thought she could make everyone wrapped around her little finger – Marluxia with his promises of capturing the castle, Axel with his flare of saving her from the betrayal that was yet to come, Zexion with his love of literature and poetry recitals, men like those, varying in passion and power, but equally as greedy to have her – _want_ her… were men. So…

Why didn't he want her?

"You're pretty." He said, but continued to play his tune. As she tried to match it with a dance, she tripped and stumbled, unused to the slow and rhythmic beat, expecting to falling face flat to the floor. Instead, he caught her, a soft smile on his face, head tilting in amusement, eyes sparkling with something that she had never known of. "But I can never love you."

She tried to kiss him, once, but like the water, he slipped out of her reach, fading away into the distance, the haunting melody still playing like a melancholic carnival. But she was drowning in his eyes, affecting her in ways that she had never known before. It might not have been torture, but it certainly was akin to that.

She had everything – men, power, looks, wasn't that everything?

"What about love?" Demyx asked her quietly, his eyes that captured different light staring into hers, while she avoided his. "Do you have love?"

"… no." She said with a broken smile. "How can I?"

"… believe?"

"I can't. That would be mad."

"Then…" He sighed, closing his eyes and tilting her chin up, pressing her glowing cheek with his lips, "… you can't have me."

She gazed at him with sorrowful eyes, but he shrugged, disappearing like ocean waves retreating from the sand. She never told him that she dreamt of him, or her, smiling and laughing while dancing in the rain with the way it's supposed to be.

And he was gone, but lodged in a non-existent heart that belonged to her, kept within a box hastily stuffed within her draws of memoirs of her previous life.

She thought… she thought she was perfect.

Who needs perfection when you can't have the man of your dreams?

_i_

**78. spark **( bonnie tyler – _holding out for a hero _)

It was unlike anything she had ever encountered before, sending a shiver down her spine, and electrifying the nerves that tingled with excitement. It soared her spirit, quick fast rapid, but unforgettable for the rest of her mind. And she wanted to feel taste touch the sensation one more time.

It so different compared with Axel – the flames that burnt brightly on a starless sky could not reach out to her, as she flashed beneath him, twisting and twirling as the thunder shot off in haphazard directions. With fire she could not even begin to feel his warmth.

With Marluxia came nothing but soft petals that grazed her numb skin, floating further away as the fire ate the fragranced petal, licking it away as it came into contact with her flesh. The Graceful Assassin was disintegrated into dust while a flame watched her with eager eyes.

But him… _Demyx_ of all people…

Her breath hitched; lost from the ephemeral contact. He gazed at her, one eyebrow arched ( usually something she did ) a smirk ( her smirk that she wore on her face ) touching the tip of his lips. There was something addictive about the way his lips toyed with hers, seductive with how he changed her opinions about his so frequently, haunting her long after midnight.

With narrowed eyes, Larxene stared at him, wondering where it came from; or had he always had it, kept in the undertow of his stifled emotions?

"Well?" Demyx asked, voice innocent, yet aware of the effects that it was having on her body. "Did you find it?"

Rolling her eyes, she half snarled, crushing her lips against him, she growled, "What do you think?"

With no other man… fresh from a fight ( with Marluxia and Axel no less ) had Larxene felt such a spark that fused their nonexistent hearts between them, mingling within her deepest fantasies…

She found that spark of life – her existence with him.

_i_

**44. stealing hearts **( papa roach – _getting away with murder_ )

They killed. They hunted. They slaughtered thousands of innocent people who they didn't even know.

They danced in pretty patterns of bloodshed which formed the basis of their macabre dance. His strum, her twirl; her laugh, his hand – a tango that relayed the emotions that they should not have, nearing them to their goals, their hearts' desires.

The more they killed, the more they became closer to life.

Eclipsed in half-lights of the pink sparkle that the heart carried, rising up in the air to join Kingdom Hearts, they watched them, the red splatter on the floor, their emotionless faces.

They were only killing people to bring themselves back to life.

To make their selves gain the emotions that were rightfully theirs, stolen from the darkness, which they hoped to have.

They might be going to hell, and the whole cause might be mad, but still…

With those stolen hearts, once they held them, alive and beating, and _theirs_, they could admit to each other…

With honesty. With passion.

That they loved each other.

_i_

**81. ocean waves **( aqualung – _strange and beautiful _)

She sat, her head hidden from the sun by her large hat, hiding her face from the rest of the world.

Beneath the hat, silent tears fell, hidden from the rain, light drizzle, heavy downpour, and her whispered proclamations of love.

She recalled a time when she had enjoyed going to a beach, with skies filled with no clouds, the wind twisting her bug-like bangs that often made him, _Demyx_, smile in her direction, amused by her hairstyle. But then, she thought cynically, he always saw through her, never going to talk to her, never leaving the sea – his almost lover – to part from the surfboard in his hand, the sun making his skin glisten and muscles shine.

With the grains of sand that became magnetically attracted to her, a fusion of skin of rain, she remembered the last time she saw him, tall, smiling, casting a spell through his humming lips. She had never asked him to create an incantation – the creation of dreams that would spiral around him – that often contained him. But he had done it, regardless, with her waking up one day with the realization of something she had never wanted to consider.

And that very day, his almost lover took him away, under gentle caresses that the undulating current had, wanting him again and again, 'til the surfer could breathe no more, taking his very life in the throes of passion.

She hated the sea, but the waves of ocean reminded her of his eyes, gentle at most times, very rarely angry. But in a split second, those eyes could destroy anything in a fit of rage. He frightened her. He entranced her.

And so, as she gazed into the colour of his eyes, she walked in… swallowed entirely by him… drowning in his almost love.

_i_

**53. romeo and juliet** ( nickelback – _saving me _)

With pillow talk, as fleeting and rare as it was, came the most obscure ideas, shared unashamedly by the two Nobodies, resting in each others arms, tangible thoughts processing from their mind, floating just before they begin to fall, two angels of light and vapour in the embellished sky.

"We're like Romeo and Juliet, you know?" Demyx murmured, once, hands tangled in her inexplicable antennae, his lips brushing against her impish ears, fine features that he believed that lead role should have. Even angels, flying through risen golden gates, knowing what was wrong and what was right, should have features that resembled the beautiful Nymph.

"Really?" Larxene replied, mildly intrigued by the concept. "And I suppose… I'm Romeo?" She stole a small smirk as she sensed two lips curving, heating up her smooth neck.

"You would be the one who set out to rescue me. And I'd try, but… I think we know that poison doesn't affect us. So you wouldn't die by that. We'd still die by our own hands, though. Even if the two plagued houses aren't technically here."

"Why?" Lazily, she asked, eyes darkening at the very thought of non-existence, ignoring the latter. "Find it romantic?"

"In a way. But then, if you talk Shakespearean to me, I'll show you how a true palmer's kiss is like." Demyx grinned, tickling her ear with his hot breath. "And that way, Juliet could save Romeo."

"Moron. Juliet _already_ saved Romeo. She just never knew it. Whilst Romeo still has to save Juliet."

"We'll be the new works of Shakespeare. A new kind of art—"

"You are already one, Julie-Demmy, baby." Larxene cut in, rolling her eyes.

"—with a happy ending." It sounded nice, and fulfilling the request that the one lead asked for another, they decided to 're-enact' the scenes which Shakespeare had decided to omit from his tragic play.

"Juliet, Juliet, where art thou, Juliet?" Larxene grinned, mischievously glinting in her electric eyes, never knowing that she had the lines and the characters wrong. Demyx wasn't to know that, mistaking it for something far more… saucy.

"Right here, sweet Romeo, asking for a kiss." Demyx played along, aroused, their 'play' only just beginning, hoping to be delivered to their true finally, without daggers or poison, forgotten in a flurry of kisses and passion.

Of course, the fated lovers did not die by their own hand, nor get granted their happy ending. The Prince killed them instead.

After all, there are no 'happily-ever-after' for those born from the darkness.

_i_

**100. blues swindler **( the hush sound – _molasses _)

She doesn't know why she's developed a fascination with Demyx, following him under the cover of darkness, disguised by wigs and lip gloss and mascara and slim dresses that show the curves of her flesh quite graciously. She sits at the back of the bar, breathing smoke through her barely parted lips, a cigarette nestling through her thin and elongated fingers.

But there he is – the _musician_, dressed in black, a black hat, a black tight-fitting jacket, black trousers and black shoes that make his movements graceful. The only exceptions are his grey waist-coat, his white shirt barely seen, and that dash of red spun sickly sweet around his black hat.

He gives them an angelic smile as he plays numerous instruments, the piano, the violin, the cello, the trombone… each time he comes and goes to entertain his audience, there's always something a little bit different, a little bit more _groovy_ as his hands touch those magical tools, his singing voice somehow otherworldly, inhuman.

And Larxene wonders, as the tunes end, the money comes chinking forth, pouring like a fountain, like honey or black treacle, another form of sickly sweet poison, if they'd offer their hearts just as easily, just as greedily, for the sake of hearing his jazzy tune one more time, before he leaves them wanting more.

Selfish humans. Always wanting more.

She never lets herself think that she's jealous because he lavishes his attention on the foolish audience and always leaves before she sees him take a naïve girl and lead her to the darkness…

But still, the Nocturne has already swindled her heart without her knowing, playing his tune of enchanting allure.

* * *

Disclaimer: kingdom hearts is not mine.


	2. ii

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**69. different **( billy talent – _surrender _)

He tried to think he _didn't_ mind. He tried to think that it was okay that she was _just _his friend.

He tried to not _hear_ his heart crack each time she was with Marluxia.

He tried not to let his heart _rule over_ his mind. But—

Every smile. Every thought. Every frown. Every dream. Every laugh. Every kiss. Every fuck.

They had tried… and had failed.

And they were far too different to make the relationship work.

_ii_

**105. break and mend **( the feeling – _sewn_ )

Demyx likes to pretend he doesn't see it.

Larxene only cackles, whispering sweet things as she destroys him with her poisonous words.

She touches him, her very fingers corroding him as she gracefully comforts him, with days of torture, and nights of comfort.

He falls apart and mends in seconds. And it happens again and again and again.

He'll do anything she says, just as long as she gives her already-broken promises that she loves him.

He pretends and pretends but knows inside, like the rag doll he has become, that one day…

One day…

He'll be too damaged to repair.

_ii_

**8. distant **( the fray – _vienna_ )

She loathes being a vessel for an element, sometimes.

Most of the time, she smiles and laughs, coy and witty, her agility gained from her element. But other times she snaps and breaks; twists and turns; her temper unrestrained, raw… her element controlling her – she can't restrain herself, sometimes. She fluxes and refluxes, nothing but a pawn to the temperamental force of nature.

But Demyx, her friend, her lover… drifts.

The smiles disappear, the adorability fades, and he moves with fluidity and grace, tranquil and melodic. He says things, and does things that Demyx—_her Demyx—_wouldn't do. He can hurt and kill and mock and tease without remorse. Because he's _not_ Demyx then. But he doesn't remember.

He's only a container for water, and as easily as he slips into her arms, with greater ease, he falls away, the current taking him far, far away from her.

So she fears, and she tries to catch up with him, but ultimately fails.

Because no one can capture the water, and the liquid that she holds in her hands eventually drips through, returning to the sea of nature.

And like that water, Demyx will continue to return to the sea's will, washed back and forth like sea shells and sediments on the foamy shore.

_ii_

**41. unfurling flowers **( counting crows – _colourblind )_

Time passes slowly. Demyx watches it unfold like a light flower as he plucks yet another sound from his sitar.

He can watch the ceiling and do nothing; he can close his eyes and compose yet another ode to existence.

He hears the sounds she makes, the only barrier a thin wall between them, one room next to the other. He doesn't attempt to imagine what she does – she's already too passionately adamant and vivid in what she does that there's no need to. The unwavering picture unfurls like the romance between Larxene and Marluxia.

And he hates it.

He can sense the chemistry between them, with her and him, with her and the other _him_.

She's perfect for him.

But she refuses to see it, fading into the arms of Marluxia. And like the flowers that he creates, they will wilt, as will she.

Only then, will she see that Demyx is perfect for her.

_ii_

**76. away from her **( the used – _the bird and the worm _)

There's something sinister about her.

He runs, and she chases, teeth gleaming, an odd sparkle in her eyes, her soundless laughter ringing in his ears.

So he twists, and he turns, and he stumbles and he begins to run, crashing into walls, and people ( occasionally getting Saïx into his Berserker mode ), and she twists her head in her hand, eyebrow arched, thin lines drawn into a Glasgow smile, far too long to fit her face, her attention captured, her delighted face filled with rapture.

And a black cloud surrounds the rain, waiting for his moments of weakness, her opportune moment to pounce.

And when she laughs, the crows that circle them scatter into the skies, thick with stormy weather.

Because she's caught him. And there is no escaping her love.

_ii_

**23. feral **( blake lewis – _surrender_ )

She is new, freshly spawned from the darkness.

Demyx watches her, narrowly avoiding her swipes and electric bolt that come forced through her fingertips – rushes of unwanted elements that hurt her and exhaust her. Her blazing eyes dart, flickering and flashing with emotion that he knows she can't feel.

She is angry. She is confused. And she doesn't know _why_… which makes her all the angrier.

"Who am I?" She screams at him, weary, swaying, unused to this _odd_ corpse, but still willing it to fight and find answers. That's all she wanted – _answers._ "How did I get here? Who am I?" Her voice is sore and harsh, any movement painful. "Why am I here?" She weakly whispers.

When Demyx notices that she's finally lost the will to fight, the crackles of lightning fading from her fingertips, does he finally make his move.

And all he does is hold her, hoping that it's enough to placate her.

"Xemnas says…" He starts, voice calm, hypnotic almost, luring her into a state of ease. "… that your name is Larxene."

For the moment, it is enough.

_ii_

**19. insomniac** ( barlow girl – _never alone _)

She was a ghost.

She was dead.

And yet, she was everywhere. In his reflection ( where he should be ), by his side ( where she shouldn't be ), in the long day ( when he tried to sleep ), in the short night ( when he stayed awake )… she was _there._

_Get some sleep, Demyx._ They all said. _You're going crazy._

That wasn't it. _She_ was making him crazy, depriving him of all the sanity that he had left. She was making him doubt reality.

Because, if one died, so did the other. Because their bond ( haunting, binding, invisible ) would never let go.

And he would be insane ( incomplete ) in Larxene's place.

_ii_

**94. paradox** ( nine inch nails – _closer _)

He hates her.

He hates her sinister smile, which implicates so many things. He hates the fact that she's a paradox, eternally contradicting herself. He hates her words which slide down his skin like sweet nothings. He hates himself…

… for thinking that he loved her.

He hates the fact that she's fucked him up.

But most of all…

He hates her for making him believe that he had a heart and then, when she died, she ripped it out and took it to the grave with her.

( somehow he still thinks he loves her. )

_ii_

**65. screwed up comparisons** ( the killers – _read my mind_ )

Honestly, Axel found the duo laughable. At certain moments, jealously crept into his sultry heart, but other times, when he watched them with voyeuristic eyes, he just wanted to smirk.

He was adorable and she was sadistic.

He gave her teddy bears and beautiful clothes; she maimed the bear's head and ripped the new clothes, before his wide eyes.

The brighter Demyx's smiles were, the more painful Larxene's 'punishments' were, the louder the screams.

He promised her magic tricks, she gave him oaths of seduction.

Apart they raged violent hisses of nature; together they brewed a fearful storm.

Together they moved like one, separated they slowly broke down, mirroring the action that the other should have done.

She cackled, he bled.

Demyx was a masochist, while Larxene was a sadist.

In their screwed up little fantasy world, it fit.


	3. iii

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**88. seagulls** ( modest mouse _– world at large_ )

She hated seagulls. Horrid things that decided to cast their 'revenge' on any foolish mortal that is 'coincidentally' beneath them.

There's a stranger by the beach who smiled at them, trying to hum their tune, trying to strum a chord of notes that are supposed to resemble the music that they make.

It was kind of adorable, in a way.

"… it's called a sitar."

"I didn't say anything." She sullenly said, sitting in front of him.

He chuckled, amused. "You didn't have to. The question in your eyes said enough." Sheepishly, he added. "Besides, not many people know what instrument it is."

"Yeah, well, you've got a question in your eyes as well!" She said, cheeks flaring. She didn't like being compared to 'other people'.

A wry smile spread onto his face. "You're right. What are those birds called?"

"Eh?" She blinked; pointing at one and seeing him nod. "Seagulls. Stupid birds."

"… cool."

"Hey, how come you don't know what they are?"

He plucked a string. "I suppose you could call me a traveller. I've seen a lot of worlds, and I've never seen a bird like that."

He had seen jungles, fantasy lands, dungeons and dragons. But never a white bird with such a pretty tune.

"… so, you're passing by?"

"Yeah. Collecting something, then moving on."

"Can you take me with you when you go?"

She sounded so hopeful, that he stared at her, caught between hope and despair. She was so young, and the world was ready. But he couldn't disobey orders, no matter what. He didn't want to turn into a Dusk.

He looked away, dismayed. "… it depends. And even then…"

"Yes?"

He forced himself to look at her bright and eager eyes. "It's not the life I'd want you to live."

"Why?"

He listened to the waves of the ocean, moving back and forth; the melodic call of the seagulls, soothing; the chatter of the people surrounding him; and the sound of her voice, her breath, her heartbeat. She'd miss it. No. She wouldn't. She'd be hollow, without those emotions that made her cute and made him smile. He'd like to stay a little longer with her, but… it's not possible. He couldn't bear it if she turned out to be like him.

"I guess it makes you feel empty. Heartless. Like a Nobody, really."

"I don't believe that." She shook her head, eyes firm with her resolution.

"Why?" He mirrored her previous question.

"… 'cause everyone's got a heart – even the heartless."

And maybe, just maybe, that's when Demyx started to believe.

_iii_

**52. bruises and bones** ( skillet – _the last night _)

He finds her in false pretences, listless and silent, decorated in red and blue, violets and roses, like her favourite flowers, the vase her flesh, marred with burns and skin-deep injuries, contusions blossoming on pale skin.

Wordlessly, he gathers his band-aid kit, and begins to clean her up, wiping her crimson-bone face white, saying nothing at all.

He says nothing, and she says nothing, a somewhat comfortable routine that passes between them when silence rules supreme, because in a way, silence is music in its own league.

One day she stops him, thin fingers enclosing on his wrist, applying a light pressure.

"Why do you do this?" She asks, voice monotone and dead, sore from all the taunting and high pitched laughter.

Demyx sighs, lowering his hand, raking his hair.

"There are better ways to prove that you're alive, you know, than pain."

_iii_

**3. twinkle** ( brooke white – _yellow_ )

She tells him one day, with flushed cheeks and a smile dancing in the corner of her face that she loved stars, always had, and always would. And he smiles, strumming his sitar, trying to convey a song to capture their quintessential essence.

But she laughs, bright blue eyes sparkling, so light compared to the vast night sky, telling him to stop with childish innocence.

"… you don't have to make them imitate the things you love." She says, lowering his azure instrument, and motioning him to follow her – to watch her as her mood lasted, exhilarated and somewhat playful. "Sometimes you've got to let things _be_."

He cocks his head, watching her as she gazed at the bright stars, swaying as she winks flirtatiously at him, antennae twitching rhythmically in such a curious manner that could almost be considered cute.

"You know… I bet these stars are shining for you." He murmurs, composing a tune in his mind to be played later. "Only for you."

"And that… is the way things are meant to be." She mutters, lightning crackling from her dainty fingertips. "Because I'm the brightest star in this whole universe."

A smile slides on his face, as the moonlight shone on her beautiful face. "You're so modest."

He wouldn't change her, because that was who she is. Nothing he can impersonate would ever be as wonderful as her… but all the same, whether it was merely the twinkle in her eyes, or the curve of her lips, or even the dynamism that made her a force to be reckoned with…

He would do anything for her.

She is the sun in his world, shining far brighter than all the rest and he can not help but fall in love with her.

_iii_

**39. lies** ( melissa etheridge – _the weakness in me_ )

She is not supposed to care.

She is supposed to hide behind a cold mask, full of indifference and temptation when the mood strikes her, whenever Marluxia or Axel are present, giggling ever so softly whenever she can sense the fire burning the wildlife, or vines leading the inferno astray; their fickle fights amusing.

But whenever Demyx stops by, whether it's a chat with Zexion or a playful banter with Axel… everything stops.

He looks at her, gentle eyes flicking to meet her eclectic eyes; saying nothing, but there's power in that silent gesture – and she freezes, unable to do nothing but stare, the words choking in her throat, her kunais on the floor, all but forgotten as he blinks.

"How are you?" He asks, small talk always a pleasant topic for him. He's too observant, but says nothing at all.

"Fine. As usual." She replies coolly, if slightly condensing.

If he knows she's lying, he says nothing at all, preferring to give a small wave – a goofy gesture of his.

"That's good. Well, see you around." He murmurs, opening a portal.

It was a pity, she thinks as she nods to his retreating figure, that the next time she saw him, the organization would be taken over, and all the_ what if_s, and the _what could have been_s that could have been explored… would be only a fractured fairytale, coming true only in dreams.

But, as the tears struggle to form, as she bats away her guilt, it shouldn't hurt this much to say nothing to a Nobody who's supposed to mean nothing.

But then, when did she ever play by the rules?

_iii_

**58. queen's realm** ( coldplay – _viva la vida_ )

She looks at him with disdain, poised as if his mere presence does not affect her, although her presence certainly affected him.

"I told you." She says, neither spiteful nor jeering. She was indifferent because she _had_, and therefore has no sympathy for him. Long fingers framed her face, accentuating only her venomous beauty. And Demyx stands in front of her, in shackles and chains, the expression so pitiful that it was almost asking to be laughed at. "But you refused to believe me."

"… so what now?" He asks, bequeathing her only the satisfaction of being numb and humble, instead of begging at her feet, like other pitiful members had done. "Come to mock me? Kill me?"

"You might like that." She murmurs, blood red lips glistening like holly growing on ivy; eyes deep as drifting clouds on a lamenting sky. "… but no. Instead, you live."

And Demyx wonders, if silence could do more damage than vocalization, then who was the real victim of this exchange?

"Who knows," she says, turning to face the door, the only exit to his prison, glancing back once more at his odd face, and strange expression, "maybe one day, I'll save you. Or perhaps you'll create a revolution. Save us. Save the world. You always did have a hero complex."

But still, he does not answer, thoughts stirring like the bow clashing on violin strings. He should do something but—

"This is my world, Demyx. You'd be better off if you obeyed me."

And the silence that follows after the closed door and fading footsteps is the symbol that all is lost, and only a broken requiem remains.

Long live the queen.

_iii_

**87. beneath the moon **( superchick – _beauty from pain_ )

Cobwebs and candlesticks. Flickers and dust; fragmented so much that eventually they fade.

This is her fear, as she glosses her lips and accentuates her eyes, desperate for a way to be noticed.

After everything has passed, and the darkness remains… would she be here? Would she be a mere whisper, or a mere monster?

Or, like the reflection of the moon on a clear lake, would she disappear, disintegrating from the fragility of life and ripple away, eventually becoming still.

Even moving water can stop, no matter what soothing pattern it traces on her white skin.

And she was meant to be forgotten, an eclipse that no one knew of.

The candle melts away, and the dust covers the memory of its short life.

_iii_

**21. zap! **( iglu & hartly – _in this city_ )

She never used to notice him, too preoccupied in tormenting other members, electricity being released in crackles through her static fingertips.

But then, Zexion laughed, or at least did the equivalent, Zexy-style. And her ears suddenly became receptive, her eyes narrowing, her head tilted, wondering what he could be possibly 'snorting' at.

It was, Demyx, whose face looked odd.

"Zap!" He said, "kinda like a bumblebee. Except she doesn't go _bzzt!_"

Within in a second, she was behind Demyx, still unaware of such things.

"No…" She smiled coldly, yet was amused. "I go '_zap'!_"

Then she grabbed him and was satisfied when he jumped into the air, yelling while pain was coursing through his skull.

"… apparently." She added, smirking.

_iii_

**77. view** ( ok go – _you're so damn hot_ )

He observes her through the corner of his eye, between the gaps of his flickering lashes.

Tilting heads and swaying hips; plucking fingers on a sitar string and feet that waltz on a devil's dance floor. This is their game, which neither dares to cross; one too scared of her vixen charm and pretty eyelashes, the other acts oblivious, breaking hearts as she extends her hand to the next contestant, crossing her fingers as she quotes another meaningless promise.

A snap of the fingers.

It's over, both the dance and the music, as soon as it's begun, time bears no mark on their ageless skin.

Feigning tiredness, she leaves, her legs sweeping the floor with crystallized shaped hearts.

His eyes linger, watching her crush the shards of glass that lies scattered on the tarnished ground. His looks away unwilling, his reaction too slow compared to the beat of his useless muscle that pumps blood around his body.

He hopes for one glimpse, for their eyes to meet one last time, but, as expected, the door shuts, leaving only damaged marionettes behind.

She notices, but does nothing; relishing the attention.

_iii_

**42. tennis** ( rjd2 – _ghostwriter_ )

They can't play the game. Honest to god.

They both cheat. Larxene turns the electricity on herself to quicken her reflexes, aiming the ball incorrectly, but always with a powerful shot, speeding like a man on a death wish; Demyx, who knows he cannot move that fast, uses his water-clone technique, quick enough to hit the ball, and subsequently, electrocute the lightning Nymph when she strikes back.

It's painful, it's addictive, and neither wants to lose, though one would prefer if the 'fight' was kept within court and not in bloodshed. The other doesn't care, simply preferring to win. At all costs.

Until Larxene simply tires of the game, grunting as she churns her power through her arm, swinging that one last shot, the rush making her limb tingly. And Demyx barely misses being hit by the ball, the swiftly sent missile brushing past his nose, his open mouth.

But the tennis racquet, that _definitely_ hits him, Larxene notes with a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Ow!"

"Listen here, Demyx." The electric Nobody clears her throat, "I'm not playing this game any more. It's stupid, it's pointless and really, a waste of my time."

"Oh?" The goofy Nocturne rubs his head. "So why are you cheating?"

"I'm not cheating!" The girl blusters, cheeks reddening, her pride bruised.

"Oh, yeah? Prove it." A playful smile lights up his face and he chucks her racquet in her direction.

Patiently waiting for her opponent to assume his rightful stance, she throws the ball, and serves.

It's a shame neither knows how to score. Or that the other members are watching them.


	4. iv

**verisimilitude**

* * *

**90. pinwheel** ( jem – _come on closer_ )

She tilts her head and licks her lips, her red tongue provocatively dancing on cherry-scented surfaces. Electricity sparkles from her fingertips, as her weapons flex from her hands, itching to spring into action. Her eyes show a shadow of a twinkle as mirthless laughter erupts from her lips.

"You're so silly, Demyx." She purrs, swaying her hips, examining her kunais instead of her nails, like most women did. But Larxene is no ordinary woman, Demyx knew. "You knew the rules, and yet you broke them."

"Did I?" He asks, somewhat loftily. "Does that explain why I'm in this… predicament?"

Her eyebrow arches, as if the answer is obvious. "No." She simply says, "this is only for my personal entertainment. Consider yourself lucky, others have had worse punishments, and this game has barely just begun."

He sighs, feigning annoyance. "I told them they sent the wrong guy."

Her eyes narrow, electricity crackling. Within a second, she flings the kunai, barely missing Demyx's head. Sadistically gaining pleasure at the sound of his surprise (and predictably rolling her eyes at the murmured comment of his gelled hair) she smiles, lifting his chin with her gloved finger. It makes no difference, for he cannot move – pinned to the wall as his punishment. They meet eye to eye and she cannot help but grin.

"Care to find out?"

_iv_

**107. object of affection **( delta goodrem – _predictable _)

He adores her, showering her in flowers and chocolates and sweet lullabies. And with deceitful lips, she smiles and takes his gifts, thanking him with fluttering eyelashes and false affection.

With lazy spider-like hands, she twirls her hair and wonders when he will stop. He's proving a point that's already been lost.

And one day he stops, holding his last gift at arms length, just beyond her reach.

"Why do you do this?" Demyx asks. "Accept all my gifts when you know it means nothing to you?"

"Does it mean nothing to you?" She diverts the answer, transferring back to him. "You say all the right things – sweeping a girl right off her feet, if she only had a heart."

"But you do—" He begins to protest.

"Who are trying to fool? Me or you?"

He is silent for a long time.

"Really," she sighs, raking her hand through her hair, "I had expected better. I only accepted the damn things because it amused me knowing you were going to be broken in the end."

He freezes, hating being implied a fool. Angry, he tosses the heart-shaped box into her hands, before disappearing.

She watches him with blank eyes as she holds his heart in her hands, tearing it in two.

It feels like an empty win instead of the spite that she should be feeling.

_iv_

**15. labyrinth** ( david bowie – _dance magic dance_ )

She giggles unexpectedly, caught at the absurdity of it.

Demyx merely looks at her, the surprise obvious on his face. "Spill it, Larx. What are you thinking?"

"Not going to read my mind, oh great goblin king?" She smirks, lips drawn in amusement.

Puzzled, he still does not understand, the reference lost; written all over his adorable features. If she squints, the resemblance is almost uncanny. But, the thought still amuses her.

"What _are _you on about?"

"Oh come _on!_" She rolls her eyes, melodramatic. "I've figured out who you really used to be!"

"Tell me…" The Melodious Nocturne warily asks her to continue, unsure if he honestly wanted to know.

"You are _Jareth!_ From Labyrinth. And don't tell me I'm wrong, because I'm right!"

He blinks, bemused. "It doesn't quite fit the anagram, if you weren't aware."

She relents, in a playful and generous mood. "Oh, alright. But you can't say you haven't got the moves."

"I look sexier and have superior lines." Demyx smugly replies. "I sing better too."

_iv_

**80. don't tell me **( motion city soundtrack – _antonia _)

She makes me blush, you know. I can feel my heart beat just a little faster whenever she's near me.

Whether it's her laughter that sends shivers up my spine, or the way that she dances whenever she thinks no one is looking… it's there. Or when she becomes entranced reading her books, her eyes slowly move from one side to the other, reading line after line, absorbing it in her mind.

She ignores me, I know; she flirts with other members. She zaps me whenever she passes me by, always enjoying my reaction. She teases and mocks and taunts me while looking absolutely stunning. And I think she's the only person that can break a person's heart while only smiling that enchanting smile.

And yet, whenever I'm not around her… everything turns into a pale blurs, far too insignificant to be memorized. And while she sinks her teeth into that perfect smile, pretty as a statue, I've never felt more alive.

I feel something, for her.

So don't tell me I don't know love.

Don't tell me I can't do anything.

And… don't tell me that I don't have a heart.

Because this 'heart' belongs to her.

But that's a secret I'll never share.

_iv_

**45. give and **take ( matt – _how can I live_ )

She takes him with greedy hands, pulling him close and releasing him before he even realizes that he's breathless.

A flirtatious wink, a pouty mouth, a gesture that only means something to him – he doesn't even notice that he's been lured into her trap, too caught up in mixed up signals and the confusion of women.

He hears the murmurs, he knows that he's called a fool; but he's too love-struck to care. He knows the dangers, but he pursues her nonetheless. She might be the one; the melody to his beating heart; his way of swaying the others to his theory – she could _prove_ it. But all these grand thoughts fall away from his head as she kisses him, again and again, quick as a lightning bolt, his lips holding the memory of hers far closer than they should.

And maybe—

But this is Larxene. And this is Demyx.

And she always takes more than he can give; and he gives it all, willingly.

_iv_

**7. marshmallows **( linkin park – _nobody's listening_ )

She tilts her head and bats her eyelashes, fingers brushing against the soft gooey material, nearly flinching from the heat emanated. Cautiously, she rubs her finger against her thumb, delicate limbs burning from warmth. It is an odd feeling.

"You're sure?"

"What, the _great_ Savage Nymph has doubts?" Demyx teases her. "I thought you knew your science. Don't tell me you're ignorant, like the fridge magnet that lies in the many basements, actually proclaims. The world would end if he actually was right."

Narrowing her eyes, she raises the stick to her mouth, her tongue tentatively licking the food. "… I suppose they aren't connected."

"Come on – suppose my usual theory is, god forbid, _wrong_; there's nothing to say that _this _one isn't."

Feeling braver, she opens her mouth and swallows, taste buds exploding in taste. "…!"

"We might not have a heart; but we totally have taste buds!"

She rolls her eyes, hand demanding another one from the packet. She grins while she selects another marshmallow, ready to turn into a crispy brown, both delectable and sweet.

"Oh, shut up and give me another one."

_iv_

**102. jump **( the veronicas – _untouched_ )

He didn't know why he did it.

Was it a ritual? A crazy hobby that his past contained? Or was it the guilt that remained in his faded memory, with gaps as big as holes in cheese.

But, oh, he did it again—and _again and again and—_

He took a deep breath, and—

Down—down—_down_—

And there she was one day, poised as ever, her expression one of incredulity, right above him, standing while he lay on the floor.

"Why, may I ask, dearest departed Demyx, are you lying on the floor in such an idiotic manner, and why, perhaps more importantly, are you jumping off the building?"

"Care to join me? You won't die." He smiled a broken grin, too caught up in the eloquence of her voice, not recognising the mocking sneer so attached to her pretty voice. There was a bitter tone to his voice, a joke that only he found amusing, but would not share.

Sighing, she helped him up.

Down—down—_down_—

"… feels weird," Larxene murmured, still lying on the floor, gazing at nothing in particular. "Falling and not dying…"

"Aw, I'm sure you've fallen in love. This is just like that. Minus emotions, and more of a… _pain factor._ You feel the wind on your face. Besides, if you didn't want that, I'm sure I can hold your hand. And, catch you as you fall." Demyx teased her.

"Bold words. Next time I'm going to electrocute you." She threatened, a grin sliding up her flirtatious face.

Down—down—_down_—

Next time he kissed her; and felt a dozen and more electrical currents course into his skin.

… it didn't stop him from holding her hand. Or grinning.

_iv_

**26. heart **( joe satriani – _tears in the rain _)

Sex hurts.

She feels the pain, and she feels her muscles react, all in pleasant ways; she knows what he's doing to her, but she still feels like a virgin because everything is new and everything feels so _strange._

She can touch him, trace the outline of his body, consider it and believe its real; just as he can do for her. She feels the pain, breathes out those gasps like 'normal' humans do, and clings on to him tighter, nails digging into his skin, never leaving a mark.

She can feel it – but pain is not an emotion.

Again and again, she tells him this, rewarded with silences that leave him breathless.

And when he leaves, his warmth faded from in between the sheets, she might as well feel an emotion, for that something that builds up inside her after everything that's been said and done, is a different kind of pain.

It aches, but she merely closes her eyes and falls asleep.

_iv_

**79. wrapping paper and ribbons **( whitey – _wrap it up _)

Revenge comes in the form of Christmas, Larxene discovers, waking up tied up as a present.

She's a prize gift, she notes, amused, looking at all the _stuff_ tightly around her skin. And in her mind, there is only one suspect: Demyx. She wouldn't have been so alarmed had she been on the receiving end of his revenge. Pranks, she notes, were not quite as bad. Vengeance was a different thing completely.

But no. First she struggles to move, caught in the ensemble of wrapping paper and ribbons; then, when she finally gives up and tears the goddamn material, finds it harder still to continue because ribbons were not as easy to tear.

Even if, she sighs, _when_ she got out, summoning her precious kunais, it is still a challenge to roam about in the castle, to start a war.

… because Demyx, stupid little bastard, has taken all her clothes.


	5. v

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**97. burning so brightly **( yellowcard – _city of devils _)

He's always been afraid of fire, or light that burns so brightly that there is nothing else he could do but shield his eyes, his arms raised protectively. The light is so strong in the darkness that inside of being drawn towards it, he shies away from it.

And he sees her, skin pristine perfect, a beacon of light. Stunning, she captures his attention before she realizes that she has it; his eyes watching her every move, in adoration, in fear.

But she never notices and he never tells.

She passes him by, like a moth he is attracted to her flame, but fear prevents him from seeking her out, too afraid of the burn.

For you see, Demyx measures things in good nature: their actions and their consequences; and nothing will change, save the rise in despair and mockery that dances on the corner of her lips, and that, is worthless.

So he says nothing, and watches her pass by.

_v_

**55. snowball **( relient k – _I so hate consequences_ )

She never expects not to feel the coldness of snow, dancing and falling on her undead form, floating into a make-believe crown that dissolves into a pauper's shame.

Taking the glove off her hands, she watches the white diamonds in mild fascination as they do not dissolve, because she held no body heat.

_Splat!_

A perfect aim to her perfect face.

Larxene is _not _smiling, nor _struggling_ to keep the smile off her lucid face. Instead, her cheeks are growing redder by the second, humiliated, and not embarrassed; her mouth curled into a malevolent anger. "Demyx!" She roars, furious now, alive with such emotion. "What in the name of _Kingdom Hearts_ did you do that for?" And low and behold, the snowball melts. It's quite an odd experience.

"Hmm?" He murmurs, lazy eyes grinning in amusement. "Did I succeed?"

"Suc-Succeed?" She wants nothing more than to wipe that grin off his face, goofy and playful as it may be, she splutters, too caught up in the feeling of snowball fights and vengeance. "In what, dare I ask?"

"Getting that sad and _contemplative_ look off your face," the Nocturne replies, oblivious to the twitch on her face. She had been _philosophizing. _"Christmas isn't really the time for that – thinking and stuff – that's New Year's Resolution. Nah, I want to infect you with the Christmas Spirit."

"Why? Considering me to be the next Scrooge?" She banters, narrowly avoiding another snowball. "Who are you, then?"

"… Fezziwig. Groovemeister. He knew how to have a good time." He wryly answers, imitating a bow – before being hit in the head. "Care to be my wife, instead of a… beast of a man?"

She ignores the pun on his name. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"… I'll take a snow check on that." He stutters; face blushing as he realizes the implications of his words. "Care to join me in a snow fight?"

The snowball hits him on the shoulder, and he retaliates by sending a snowball down her shirt… accidentally of course.

Inevitably, a laughing play for childish banter and several hit-and-miss snowballs is set in motion.

Later, when they collapse on top of each other, faces flushed from their exercise, Demyx wonders, maybe, if he asked the Question, she'd accept.

… either way, Mission To See Her Smile is a complete success.

_v_

**61. severance **( michelle featherstone – _always for you_ )

He would never reach her.

The rain never touched the lightning, and for those ( _lucky? unlucky? )_ droplets that did, they were destroyed, disintegrated in a heat that burnt and scorned anything that touched it.

That was the truth that severed them both, despite their hope.

But she could never touch him.

_v_

**35. mirror **( imogen heap – _glittering clouds_ )

"I'm not like this." She says, one day, destroying a mirror, the cracks all the visible; the fragments slowly falling, creating a different kind of picture, fractured, but still showing her reflection, broken up and in different parts. "This isn't me."

He stands beside her, watching with a contemplating look on his face. "I know."

"I am not _me_. I am a shell of my former self." She bitterly says, eyes momentarily darkening with frustration.

"I know." She's said it so many times that the words wash over him like sea foam on a beach.

"So, why? Why do they treat me like this?" Anger that she should be feeling flares into her voice, flashes within her eyes.

Sighing, he picks up a shard, the mirror piece that has fallen from the wall. It shines, reflecting a fraction of what it sees, catching the light.

"Because we see who you truly are."

He throws the piece of glass away.

_v_

**29. glass frame **( automatic loveletter – _hush_ )

They were shadows on the wall, left behind within boxes outlined with frames and trapped within glass; an image imprinted showing their last memory together. As Nobodies, in love, defying the theory of Xemnas and laughing at any one who called them fools.

_Better to be a fool,_ Demyx often said, his arm snaking around Larxene's waist, _and believe what you want, than be a wise man and believe nothing at all._

But they were dead now, Axel sighed, breaking the photo frame apart, and sliding the glossy sheet of paper into his hands, the temperature a tad too hot. And the music they had made had long since disappeared, with no more melody wafting in the air, living the lover's dream, emblazoned in clouds of cotton, soft as the adoration they held for each other in their eyes.

He snapped his fingers, jaded eyes filled with an empty remorse, and the photo burned into ash.

Because that was how a Nobody was remembered, not through snapshots of their life, but the charred remains of their destroyed bodies.

_v_

**6. mischief **( abney park –_the wrong side_ )

They were a beautiful couple, the humans thought, watching them dance.

The lady swirled and she twirled, her beat matched to his, who was as smooth as water, flowing easily from the music to her. Their hands barely touched, yet were so connected, so intimate. Her pale skin, his adoring eyes; his feather feet and her fluttering hands, they flittered across the dance floor, acting as if they were king and queen of the dance floor.

Yet there was a mischievous sparkle in their eyes, as if they knew something that the audience didn't.

And one by one, the spectators died, unsuspecting as they were enraptured within their performance, too busy staring to notice anything crawl up their leg and steal their heart, dying with panic, fainting as the dance continued, slow yet fast, the haunting melody singing.

"Well," red lips curled, high heels clacking across the smooth surface of the waxed floorboard, "that's certainly one way of getting the job done."

Demyx bowed, clicking his fingertips to stop the instruments from playing. The instrumentalists were among the first to go, though the music kept one playing. He grinned, far too easily sliding on his face.

"Care to do that again sometime?"

_v_

**103. jealousy **( nick lachey – _what's left of me_ )

She's jealous. How can she not be?

She likes Demyx, whose soft smile is always adorned on his goofy face, and his eyes always twinkle in that cute little way whenever _that_ person is in the room, who bats her pretty lashes in response with a sly grin coiled around her cunning face. And when that happens, Demyx loses interest in her, no longer teasing her with witty comments, or showing her a new piece that he's composed, his attention drawn to and lavishing on the sparkly eyed beauty who sashays the room.

And Naminé sinks, fading, left forgotten.

She doesn't blame Demyx; the musician who carries his sitar everywhere like a man carries his wallet, to be lured by Larxene.

She doesn't blame him at all.

But she resents Larxene and her power to steal his heart scares her just that little bit more.

_v_

**89. later **( placebo – _twenty years_ )

He thinks she'll tire of him, eventually. She'll hate the way he'll be over her. She'll despise the way he holds her hand and makes funny faces whenever he tells her of an epic theory. She'll become disgusted with how obsessed he is with music. And she'll pick every single flaw he has.

She'll hate the way she thought she had a heart, she thought she loved him, when all he did was tell her lies that she realized, and grew to loathe him.

She'll hate him—

—in the future.

And the scars that he bears on the ever corroding surface will deepen, never to heal, battered as the poison that is woven into her black blood. His hand loses hers, in time, and for that he is afraid.

But she shakes her head, antennae bobbing up and down, murmuring that that'll never happen.

( he still thinks that it might. )

_v_

**14. upon a time **( angelzoom – _fairyland )_

Once upon a time, there was an empty musician, who loved a beautiful dancer. They were in different groups, but sometimes cooperated together for festivals.

He travelled many worlds, saw a million dancers, each beautiful in their own right… but none were as beautiful as the dancer the musician saw.

The way the dancer moved, talked, and danced, was filled with grace, yet looked even more beautiful as people confessed to her and she broke their hearts, a twisted smile marked so prominently on her snow white face. She twirled, and spun and pirouetted as often as lightning clashed across the sky, falling, falling, _falling_ into the territory that must not be crossed.

And one day, the musician confessed.

And as predicted, she broke her heart.

And when the darkness came, he lost his talent, and she became a witch.

… did you like that story, Naminé?


	6. vi

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**68. permission **( snow patrol – _chasing cars_ )

She stands, tapping her foot and wondering if this is really necessary. Zexion is, after all, scowling at her with an impassive look on his face, his frown etched on, almost permanently added, as of late. Maybe it had something to do with her dating Demyx.

She bites back a grin. It's very likely that it's the cause of his recent 'moods, not dark and angst-y, but deep and prolonging, as if he was weighing the pros and the cons. Finally, it seems like he has his answer.

"So, seriously," she rolls her eyes and clucks her tongue, half-amused and half-impatient. "What _are_ you going to tell me?"

It's been a long time since she's heard the Great Zexion speak and she's sort of curious about the sound of his voice.

"I've decided." He solemnly says, his musing presence still mulling through his options. "You can date Demyx."

She nearly chokes. So _this_ is his problem? Well, it does make sense – she _has_ been occupying Demyx's time, preventing the law friends from hanging out. Instead she smiles, trying (and no doubt failing) to look grateful. She probably looks smug. Unintentionally, mind. She's actually touched, in an electric volt to the head kind of way. She hadn't realized that she needed his permission. "Thank you."

Zexion grunts, tilting his head and acknowledging her. As quietly as be arrived, he vanishes, cloaked to the very end. He's done what he's set out to do.

She sneaks a smile on her lips, before returning to the luxurious bedroom, where Demyx lays in a somewhat romantic position.

"Who was that?" The Nocturne asks, blowing a bubble of wet kisses.

"Zexie." She smirks, unable to help herself. "He's given by his blessing to procreate and get married."

A slight twist on the words, but Demyx doesn't need to know that. Neither does Zexion, for that matter.

Because, maybe, that's what will happen. Maybe they'll get married for the hell of it, or just to tease him. But they were going for the former blessing, regardless.

And Zexion, sweet as he is, definitely does not need to know that.

_vi_

**11. xylophone **( tal bachman – _she's so high above me_ )

Larxene knew she didn't have any aptitude for music. That, however, didn't deter her from trying to play the rather curious instrument. Although, with her short temper, maybe she should give up now and do away with it.

No, she decided, taking a deep breath and restraining her temper. she would do this.

For him, if not herself.

"Once again," she said, slim fingers picking up a wooden mallet – so different compared to the refined material of her weapon. "I can do this."

And she did. Eventually. Just in time.

She loved the expression on Demyx's face as she played – note perfect – 'happy birthday'.

_vi_

**57. femme fatale** (birthday massacre – _blue_ )

She had an affinity for sparkle decorated in blood, the colour so pretty, flecked in stains draped across the clear white floor, casting such a beautiful shade of red. Screams of her victims only made it prettier, until they were no longer able to scream, strung vocal cords torn out of their necks and disinterestedly left on the ground.

And left behind were their mangled corpses, terror marked so clearly on bone white faces.

Demyx found it romantic, in that quirky way of his. He didn't approve of her 'liberating boredom activities', death always lingering in her presence, like lightning crackling in the sky, because he preferred a more… pacifist way of life.

So she came and went, flicking crimson specks off her pristine white fingernails, and Demyx cleared up the mess, following her like the waves in a storm, the havoc created forgotten, and all that was left was the calm, the blood washed away in swirls of blue strings and flowing strums.

And in the eye of the storm, she paused, hesitating, the last blow almost tasted on her bloodless lips; the kunai drawn but not used. Not yet.

"Why?" She whispered, quite aware that he was standing behind her, merely waiting for her to fade away, the storm to end, and then he would clear up the destruction, as if she had left everything untouched. Except, of course, the dead body, pale and drained of pretty red blood. "Why do you call it romantic?"

The Nocturne, often considered a bumbling fool, always misinterpreted in most people's eyes, took his time to answer.

"The way you… _desecrate _things… is almost like an art. There's passion in the way you destroy things, left unspoiled. And you've never looked more alive than when you destroy things. And, to put everything in that _act of death_… that's romantic. It doesn't have anything to do with love, you know. You love the way you create chaos and death, putting such a…" His eyebrows furrowed, finding the words. "… delicate spin on it."

Larxene was closing the space between them. "You know, they say that romance is breaking every heart in two; but I think you're just being flirty with me and trying to get into my good graces." Her lips touched his, a volt burning his mouth, leaving a bitter taste on his mouth and cracked lips, and she grinned. "And for that cute speech, I think I'll let you kill him."

Easily, she disentangled herself from him, giggling as she picked up the scattered kunais, glistening with blood, licking her lips.

And like the storm ended, there was nothing but silence, save the distant sound of waves moving to and fro.

_vi_

**46. extinguish **( maroon 5 – _she will be loved_ )

Water could easily extinguish fire. It could make the fieriest flame dissolve into nothing, disappearing completely from the earth, defeated by an uncontrollable liquid that stops flames from burning in passion.

Science proved that.

But science can't compare to real life; and Larxene chose Axel over Demyx.

It had nothing to do with element, she insisted, they had a _spark_, something between them. And although water and lightning were a fantastic combination, she reminded him, recalling all those missions that they spend together, they had _nothing_ between them. No spark. No feeling, except a bond of comradeship, a fragile tie to friendship.

And science… didn't help them. Whether they fought, and the victor was made and a loser was formed, regardless, she still would have picked Axel.

Science isn't everything except the chemistry between them; and chemicals were reacting whenever Axel and Larxene were together.

And nothing happened whenever Larxene was with Demyx.

With those few words, Larxene extinguished Demyx, lightning zapping away all the remnants of water in the air.

Demyx felt the flame burn.

_vi_

**95. dart **( barenaked ladies – _one week_ )

He's fast. That's one of the first things I've noticed about him. Oh, sure, you can say that he acts goofy and without a care in the word, but I've seen it, that little glint in his eye that sparkles, that makes him just that little bit _odd._ Of course, a minute later, he acts like he's crazy – but in a good way, otherwise you wouldn't associate with him. And somehow, it's just so easy to think it's a trick of the light.

Happy go lucky. It's weird how he makes anyone smile. He's quick, wittier than most people realize and he's constantly swaying to a beat that no one else hears, but in a weird way… it's cute. But tell him that and I'll maim you. Although, I like maiming; it brings out such peculiar screams. Still.

He's fast, unpredictable, and I like that. One minute he's chattering – perhaps a bit _too much_ – the next he's saving your life or dare I say, pulling a prank on you. And it throws me every single time. Because somehow he's able to make you fall for the 'innocence' that shines ever so brightly within his sparkly eyes.

He darts from one place to the next, never lingering in one place for too long, and his arms flap about like an albatross.

I get that. Well, partly.

He doesn't like to be… fixed. And you can't control water. You can manipulate it to an extent… but, even then it waits to take control.

He's an enigma. But then again, so am I.

In a way, we're unstoppable. And no one can truly control us.

_vi_

**83. child's play **( gorillaz – _feel good inc_ )

It must have been the way he moved. The way he gabbled excited with a new idea, brilliant or not. The way he energetically leaped into something, without looking at the bigger picture. Or was it the way he held that disarming grin and maintained that boyish charm?

He made them feel ridiculous, sometimes. Other times he made them feel merry, others cross, angry even.

But it was a learning experience that grew like windmills flying in the sky. He'd like to see that.

A flying windmill. His arms outstretched as the wind blew through his rugged hair (or maybe he meant muscles).

Maybe it wasn't possible… but… it was a wonderful idea. And it brought a smile to the scientist's face.

Perhaps it was his spontaneity, but somehow, he made them all feel like a child once more, bright and alive with craving for chocolate and dislike for broccoli.

_vi_

**66. goodbye **( cold – _cure my tragedy_ )

He dreams of her, thinking that it's because they're connected. And she seems so lovely in those painted dreams where everything flows like a stream of running water that he forgets her temper, her quick and witty replies, he forgets a few things that she has that annoys her. But he remembers, as easily as morning dew resting on a leaf, that it's the flaws that he hates is part of the reason that he loves her.

And he's holding her, safe in his arms and warm in his embrace, and yet she feels so distant, her body crackling uncontrollably. Flashes of electricity pass through her face and pass into him, hurting him, and reluctantly, he lets go of her.

Her eyes are blazing, bolts dancing in her iris and suddenly she's shimmering, shimmering like water rippling and lightning hurled across the sky, too fast and too sleek for him to reach out and touch her, just once more, in his pale imitations, his weakening memory that slowly diffuses his image of her.

He thinks she's crying, except she's never cried before.

_What's wrong?_

She shakes her head, stepping back, translucent and fading to black, swallowing her whole. _It's too late. It's far too late._ Even if it is, she reaches out to him, silently whispering sorry, she's _so sorry_—

"Goodbye."

When he wakes up, it's the first word that falls from his mouth and the last word that he hears her speak—

Because she's dead and she's a traitor and she's wasted her last breath on him, like the fool that they both are.

_vi_

**48. pen pals **( all american rejects – _swing, swing_ )

It was totally her former life's fault. Damn her!

"… Earth to Larxene, you mustn't talk about yourself that way. I'm sure she – or should I say 'you' – weren't such a bad person." Demyx mused, brushing past a few complimentary gifts.

Although she appreciated the sentiment, it did little to diffuse her ire. "But she got me in that mess!" She protested, looking _kinda cute_ in that summer dress.

"Yes, yes, I'm aware. And yet again, you're going to tell me that I'm the only one who's not going to make fun of you." The water user waved it away, wondering what kind of gift her 'friend' would like.

Really, it had begun when Larxene remembered that she had been invited to a wedding and that she was one of the bridesmaids. The only reason why she was a 'Nobody' and her 'friend' wasn't was because they lived in separate worlds. And Larxene's Other had become her best friend, while becoming addicted to electrical appliances and chatting to her via webcam. Somehow, with the wedding coming so soon, she hadn't the heart to break it off and just not turn up.

And she had no idea what to get her 'friend', and – and… that's where Demyx came in, literally swooping to the rescue and calming her frazzled nerves (and stroking her hair, for some reason), who promised to help her, provided that he could come with her to the wedding. As her _date_.

He had a thing for bridesmaids, though he wasn't going to tell her that.

"I'm going to let that go," she tersely said, "only because you're helping me."

"Chocolate fountain? Think she'd like that?" He asked, changing the subject.

"It'll have to do, I'm bored, and I've forgotten her name but I weirdly remember her world and the date that's been set." Larxene tiredly spoke, smoothing out the creases of her dress. She still had no idea why she wasn't wearing her uniform. But then again, Demyx wasn't either…

"… because you have the invitation."

"Because I have the invitation." Larxene affirmed, unsure of _how_ she still had it and chose not to dwell on it. There were stranger things in life.

Like Demyx becoming attractive in her eyes. There must be something wrong with her.

"Aw, Larxy—" How she _hated_ that nickname! "—you don't have to worry – you've got _me_ accompanying you. And we're going to be even more adorable than the wedding couple."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're going to steal the spotlight?"

He shrugged, in the mood for mischief making. "Maybe. Besides, if you _really_ don't like the wedding, you could kill the bride and her groom _beforehand_, including the audience – replacing them with Nobodies, making them look human and _tada_! We'll get married instead."

"We'd have to keep the priest alive." She murmured. "To make it legit."

"Details, details. He doesn't have to know the whole thing – just understand that there's been a change of plans." Enthused, Demyx took her hands, daring for the opportunity. "So, what about it, will you marry me?"

She hesitated, before figuring to go with it – how many times would two Nobodies marry? Besides, wasn't it proof of their existence in some kind of supernatural way? She smirked, amused.

"Only if the bride's prettier than me."

… so maybe her Other had done something good, after all.

_vi_

**108. celestial voice **( george michael – _last christmas_ )

It begins slowly, Demyx notices, with the bobbing of her antennae, and gradually moves to the full motion of the tapping of her foot. And smoothly, like the nymph she is, she sways her hips, and eventually hums, the Christmas spirit infecting her. It creeps so slowly that she doesn't even realize she's doing it.

And then, Demyx notices with a widening smile, she begins to sing, her sweet voice horribly off tune. He can't help it – he laughs.

Mortified, she turns to face him, her face colouring, quite prettily, Demyx must say, with a hint of a smile. Before the smile disappears when Larxene's eyes narrow.

"You didn't…"

Against his judgement, he nods. "I did." Honesty is the better policy, always. Despite the trouble that is caused from it.

"And?" Almost expectantly she taps her foot, still caught in the jingle.

Idly, he wonders if she wants an apology. "You really can't sing. Sure, it's sweet when you hum, but I think you need lessons if you want for sing with the voice of an angel."

"And what if l want to sing with the voice of a devil?" She arches her eyebrow, unimpressed. "Would you teach me how to do that instead?"

"Hey! I'm not a teacher in singing… but, I suppose I could. If… you'll give me a Christmas present?" He asks, hopefully, the irresistible look in his eyes.

"Maybe…" She vaguely says, unsure if she should consider it.

"See you later, then." Demyx nods, watching her go.

And the process is repeated. Again and again and again.

Except he can sing and she can't.


	7. vii

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**72. invisible wings **( sunset swish – _mosaic kakera_ )

"I want to fly." She said, not looking at him, but the sky. "One day. Some day."

"With wings?" Demyx replied, feeling the wind blow through his hair and across his skin. "C'mon, tell me, you know, I won't make fun of you."

"Nah. Wings are lame. People would call me a pixie because I'm petite." Her nose wriggled at the very thought, and she hated being called short, or small. She was, but still, she didn't like the word.

"Larxene the pixie… somehow I think the Savage Nymph suits you so much better."

He was rewarded with an electric watt smile and a lit up expression dancing in her eyes. "Thank you." Of course, it was fuelled with a smug glint in her eye. She loved compliments, after all. But she sighed, a wistful look in her face as she dug her nails into her gloved hands. "It's kinda sad that it won't happen."

"Hey, anything can happen, so long as you believe."

She snorted, punching him, her way of affection, laughter bubbling into the sky. "_You_, Dem, are _lame._"

"But far cooler than wings?" A smile crept onto his face, a knowing look in his eyes.

Larxene considered it.

"… but a little bit cooler than wings, invisible or not."

_vii_

**91. salvation **( angela – _gravitation_ )

She never asked to be saved. She was her own knight in shining armour, with Marluxia as her bitch.

She was the princess in the fairytale, annoyed by the evil witch, until she grew bored of that role, and decided to switch places, deciding that acting the ways of evil and being rebellious were _far more interesting_ than acting like a damsel in distress.

But then came along Sora, along with his blinding smile, the idiot apprentice of a blacksmith, claiming that he would rid the world of evil. Though the actual feat can't be done, and though she liked to rain on his parade, she hadn't the heart to tell him this, although she certainly would have adored seeing his crushed reaction.

Sora came and Sora went, destroying her in the name of 'good'.

She never asked to be saved… but she would have liked to say goodbye to the musician that made her smile.

_vii_

**2. rainy conditions **( akeboshi – _wind_ )

He doesn't like umbrellas.

They may be romantic to people who share it in the rain, but still…

He is a stranger in the dark and hidden through the clouds, but the lightning finds him still, perched on a tree with branches, tilting her head in thoughtful musing. Should she send a shiver of lightning down his spine? Certainly, it would electrify him in these rainy conditions.

"Hey, Larxene," Demyx says, out of the blue and within a blink of a raindrop, "when are you going to ditch the umbrella?"

"Hmm…" She licks her lips, with a childish curiosity. "I suppose, that'll be the day when you start using one?"

He laughs, in bitter irony. "Are we polar opposites, now?"

"Wait and see, sugar pop." And thus ends their question charade. "But, seriously, why don't you like umbrellas?"

He faces her, his eyes searching through the drips of his soaked hair, his face looking up. "If you didn't know me… could you tell if I was crying, or if it was _just_ the rain on my face?"

"…" And for some strange reason, she feels terribly blank.

"See, if we were strangers, you wouldn't know. You wouldn't be able to tell." He shrugs, making his head downcast.

"But we _are_ strangers."

"In some ways. In others, we're not. But that's for you to decide, and the rain to show."

"But—" Her words are lost as the rain increases its pressure. And for some reason, when she glimpses at her reflection, she can't say whether it's the rain that's fallen through the holes of her umbrella or tears that she never knew were there.

_vii_

**54. maybe **( chikako – _hanabi_ )

"If I told you that I loved you, what would you say?"

The words startle her, and for a second, she feels the urge to laugh and spit in his face. But she refrains, unnerved.

"… do you?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Perhaps one day. Perhaps never."

His words brush ever so slightly against her ear, feather soft and as light as her hair. But they feel daunting, though he's said it as if they are meant to be thrown into the ocean, the waves lapping back and forth.

"There's always a possibility."

"I guess." He shrugs, his fingers sliding down her shoulders. "It was only a thought."

"I'd think you were a liar, in any case." She informs him, annoyed with an unfamiliar emotion that builds up within her.

Teasingly, he kisses the curve of her neck.

"Then I'd say it again and again until you'd believe it."

Her eyes meet his, swirling in familiar unfamiliarity. "You would, wouldn't you?"

A smile creeps onto his face. "Maybe. I don't know."

It takes less than a few seconds to wham the pillow into his face.

"You are so _aggravating_!"

She thinks he would, in any case, as she hides a secret smile.

_vii_

**37. home **( shiroi oka – _maromi no theme_ )

What happened in his room was a sworn secret and as a result, no one was allowed to enter it. Nobody ever did, since they disliked being connected with their little retard in the 'family'.

But maybe that's why Larxene liked him, because he was underestimated, and no one understood him.

She could curl up into his side and stay there forever, while he awkwardly stroked her hair like a broken doll. She could rake her hands through his hair and sink her teeth into his skin, and he would never say a word. Nobody would listen. She could stare at his glassy eyes and his eyelashes that were far too thick and he'd look through her like she was the one made of glass.

She was in control and revelled in it. She could kill him and he knew it.

But somewhere along the way, along broken skin and marred smiles, she'd considered this place her home.

Because he was always there, painstakingly put together in a blank abyss of lost music, and she was the only one who was able to hear the beat of his pathetic little fragile heart.

And somehow, it was her pathetic little fragile heart too.

That's her definition of the word home.

_vii_

**31. pictures of a puzzle **( colours – _flow_ )

Their relationship was a rather… hit and miss quirk. It all had to do with circumstances and how the mood of the other person was. Caught in a bad one and there went another wall, crushed by defiant anger and the manliest scream ever known to man. Then came the predictable chasing and not so predictable 'throwing an unknown potion built in scientific labs' at Larxene's face, followed by the slow but painful bonding time in the hospital, with just a dash of unpleasant snarkiness by Nurse Vexen. By the end of it, the troublesome two had reconciled their differences.

Or at least, Demyx avoided Larxene so she could cool down.

And sometimes, their interaction was good, where Demyx found himself able to rant and compare the latest singles of bands and which songs and albums were better. Larxene found herself considered equal, not someone considered beneath him, and she liked that, keeping just a tad of feminine traits.

Like pictures of a puzzle, they fit. Like pictures of a puzzle, sometimes there was a missing piece in the equation, and a hole was left between them, a void that could not be filled. Hit and miss, there was no telling whether everything was okay until the bigger picture had been realigned.

They were misunderstood, and they understood that about each other.

Maybe that's the reason they brought a sad smile to each other's face.

_vii_

**67. marred flesh **( nirgilis – _snow kiss_ )

Demyx never produces music – good music which the Organization had appreciated – after Larxene dies. Instead, he sought comfort in the only belief that kept him sane, that he really did have a heart.

But his smile breaks into a thousand pieces each time he looks into a mirror, and his eyes become just a shade darker each time lightning flashes into the sky.

It's a process of numbing and mending, but he doesn't think he's getting any better.

And the scars that have raked his shoulders still remain skin deep and unfading.

He finds Naminé one day, staring out the window, or creating a hole with her gaze. She had been silent for far too long and the crayons wither at her touch. She is pale and fading, and as white as a ghost. But the scars left are clear to see.

Like her, he says nothing, deciding to sit beside her. It may be a while, it may be millennia, but time passes between them and neither knows for how long.

He says one day. "I miss her."

It's the wrong word to use, but it's not the wrong thing to say.

"Me too." Naminé mumbles.

He laughs, bitterly and ironically, and he swears that she joins him, for a fraction of a second. And suddenly he can't stop, recalling numerous scars and various quirks about the sparkle in her eye and the sneer on her lips, and the little castaway doll suddenly joins him, adding to the memories of pain and malice.

They share so much more than scars and marred flesh.

But if it's at the cost of Larxene's death… then neither is sure that it's the price to be paid.

For now, the Savage Nymph haunts them in corridors filled with recollection. And she will never disappear like those scars that have begun to heal.

_vii_

**50. you idiot! **( aqua timez – _alonez_ )

Most people never noticed that it was an act, the way they held each other and how they acted.

Most people considered them weak: she, the _girl_; him, the _retard._

It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, but no one cared.

And so the fury bottled up and fizzled, exploding within them and things became broken and the melody created unwanted noise. The rest of the Organization complained, blaming their 'weakest members'.

An agreement was made, a mutual consent, and one by one, the members decreased, dying in such strange ways, in such a strange manner. If the rest of the group suspected, then they did not share their views. After all, how could _Demyx_, who could hardly hurt a _fly,_ do such things? Or Larxene, dangerous at times, be a force to be reckoned with while she was in a community of stronger men.

Their lips curled, satisfied with the masquerade. "You're an idiot."

"It was just a joke."

And that _joke_ had backfired terribly on those who had not taken them seriously.

_vii_

**38. unintended **( abington boys school – _innocent sorrow_ )

You don't get her mad. You don't _try_ to get her mad.

You've never tried, instead, you just say the wrong thing, never realizing which part of your phrase ticked her off; which offhand comment offended her and hit a nerve, electrifying it to the core.

By the time you figure this out, you're running around the white castle, desperately avoiding her, or running away without colliding into other members or demolishing walls, flooding the white floors in an attempt to lose her. There's always a nagging reminder that the Superior would have your head anyway, but the more dangerous threat is chasing you and you've got no option but to run.

And one time you dare to do the stupidly foolish: you look back. You absorb the way a flush, or is it a blush, frame her face and make her glow. You notice the way sparks fly in her eyes and how her hair dances with the speed that's building up. You notice how her uniform curves her body…

Such a pity that you notice _now,_ when she looks mad, she looks awfully cute.

Then you hit the wall and damage Xemnas' property.

But Larxene hasn't even started.


	8. viii

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**24. wrong? **( little by little – _kanashimi wo yasashisa ni_ )

"Larxene, why does everyone think that Roxas could be the love child of you and Axel?"

"Demyx, first of all: Roxas could _never_ be our love child, mainly because we are _not_ in love, and fifteen years ago, we did _not_ fornicate and produce a baby named Sora and then let the Heartless 'bring out' Roxas."

"Yeah, but, still, there are rumours."

"Rumours are rumours, Dem. For most part, they're lies. I should know. I spread them."

"Yeah, but… technically, Roxas is so more likely to be _our _child."

"Are you telling me that you have an innate feeling and desire to become a father, with me as the mother? Pregnancy ruins beauty, and I am _not_ becoming fat just for the sake of you wanting a child."

"No… I just find it more likely if people assume that I would be the father, than Axel."

"Do explain, oh enlightened one."

"He's got your eyes and my hair. And my smile. But he's got your sadistic streak, toned down by my genes. He has the _spikes_ – which we both have, though you've got more antennae-like hair, and I use hair gel. But when I was an Other, and hadn't discovered gel, my hairstyle was pretty close to his."

"So…?

"Roxas could so be our baby."

"Despite that sounding terribly creepy, if we actually made a child, though I'm not sure that I'm actually capable of _having_ one… I think you may be right!"

"What made you go sarcastic?"

"It was the fact that you're an idiot, Dem. And it's never going to be possible. However, if you wish to tell Roxas this _wonderful_ piece of information, emotionally scarring him, please tell me. I want to see his reaction. And Axel gouging his eyes out while explaining the birds and the bees."

"Okay, what about this: if males _could_ get pregnant, then Zexion could _so_ be the love-child of Saïx and Xemnas."

"Besides that being wrong?"

"Yep."

"… I think I prefer Roxas being our kid than Zexion being theirs…"

"But, theoretically, I _am_ more likely to be the father—"

"_Shut up!"_

_viii_

**73. shadows on the ocean floor **( access – _doubt and trust_ )

He's looking through the ocean when the thought strikes her by, and maybe it's just the waves that brush his boots and recoil at the touch, or maybe it's just the fact that he's being unusually quiet and she's watching in mute fascination, but the thought hits her, and it hits her hard.

It's odd, and she should have forgotten it right away, but the silence that encompasses her only strengthens the thought and the churn in her stomach.

It's the way that the shadows are cast on his face, darkening his cheekbones and highlighting his hair, and a name tangible as air sticks to her tongue, willing to be called, asking to be said. But as words whisper through her ashen mouth, it slips onto the ocean floor, stolen into the current and never to be returned.

And it's far too late; she's forgotten who he is, and who he used to be.

He turns, his face breaking into a grin, shattering the spell that had been cast upon her. Good naturedly, he extends his hand, waiting for hers to take it.

"C'mon, let's go."

For a second, the water feels kind, and the words tingle on her tongue, but its patience runs out like blood flowing from an open wound, and returns back to its master, and the name that could be his eludes her, stranding her once more on a different desert island.

"… yeah."

The ocean says nothing, bubbling froth and briny blood, leaving her behind.

_viii_

**51. lie in shame **( kaori hikita – _michiyuki_ )

She doesn't know how it happened. He doesn't even care.

( _clothes are on the floor_ )

She remembers the way she threw a tantrum. He remembers the way that the light caught her iris.

( _windows are fogged up_ )

She hates the way his dark eyes pierce hers. He hates the way her words tear into his soul.

( _make up is smeared_ )

Her eyesight is blurry and she's saying such _stupid_ things—

He's too close and too hot and suddenly his mouth is on hers—

( _and she is in make believe tears_ )

But this is her fault. And he will not atone for it.

_viii_

**64. priceless **( ikimono gakari – _bluebird_ )

She sits with frail sakura petals as her tears, swirling in a downhill spiral. She watches the sunset with an impassive look on her ashen face, yellow hair stained red with blood.

It drips. It falls.

It slides down her cheek like the tears that should be there.

She looks down as she hears the darkness allow someone to pass through. Another member. _Great._

"Hey, Larxene, are you okay? Heard you were here and all, thought I might as well, drop by…"

Oh. That's number nine's voice; his goofy _stupid_ voice that annoys the hell out of her.

"Fuck off."

"… what's with that attitude? I mean, when we get our hearts back, who knows how you're going to turn out. You should smile a bit more. Not scarily. Nicely."

She watches the sunset in silence, barely conscious that he's still there, unusually quiet behind her. She can't hear him breathing, but then again, they don't need to.

"Demyx, I mean something, right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"No, I mean—I don't know what I mean, but… I'm important. For the _Cause_."

"No, not just the _Cause_. You mean so much more than that."

"To what?" Wearily, she lifts her glassy eyes, shining with a dulled look, not glimmering with tears.

"To me."

_viii_

**82. kisses of a fuzzy heart **( yui – _rolling star_ )

She can't stop giggling, her world lapsing in shades of pretty violets and daisies. She thinks there's butter in her mouth and flowers in her hair. And Demyx is standing far too close and far away, with his arm slung around her shoulder; they're swaggering like two proud pirates who have stolen gold.

And what a lot of gold they've stole.

"Yo ho, yo ho." Demyx drunkenly states, hiccupping and grinning while Larxene shatters into snorts and snickers. She has to grab him to not hit the floor and to maintain upright. "A pirate's life fer me…"

"Sea mates an' scurvy…" She notes, tugging him. "Tis summin' beginnin' wi' c…"

They have no idea when they started drifting to sea in a barrel of rum. As it is, they don't care, two wide smiles on their faces.

Pity they've lost the gold. Luxord no doubt has taken it. Obviously.

"We should be pirates one day." Demyx says, eyes glassy.

"What? Defying the law and making cool escapes? Hello. We already do that."

"Yeah, but they get the more awesome costume. And…" He slurs, leaning in, kissing her, his mouth on her lips, "… I get to do that more often."

"With only me, right?" There's sharpness to her tone that sobers them slightly.

"Duh."

"Well, then." She giggles, licking her lips in a playful manner. "There no problem, to be pirates more often."

"Is that what we're calling it…?"

"That's what we're calling it…" Her lips widen and she leans back into his mouth, because it's the alcohol talking and she feels kinda warm and fuzzy and she doesn't want the feeling to go away.

Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's not. It doesn't matter either way. They keep doing it anyway, sober and drunk.

Because being a pirate is fun, and they can do _it_ anywhere, provided they can get away with it…

_viii_

**17. not enough **( screaming tree – _look at you_ )

He tries. He tries too hard.

I know, I watch, I care.

He looks at me with puppy eyes, and every time he does, it's not the same, and a piece of him breaks away. I share the same colour of skin, the same colour of eyes, the same shade as hair… as _she_ had.

And looking the part isn't enough.

His lips press against mine, his hands desperately cling onto my hair and he's searching for something he can never get. His hands can linger on my scars created by hers, but… I'm not her. He can whisper her name in my ear and cuddle me in a mixture of regret and love and sorrow and pity and comfort, but it still doesn't change the fact that she's dead and I'm alive. He doesn't say "it should have been you", he doesn't say "I love you", he just says her name, as if that's all it takes to bring a memory back to life. I won't give him pain – I _can't,_ not the way she does – I can only offer for him a pathetic remedy – that he could forget her. But he never can. Neither of us can.

He tries to smile, he tries to act strong, he tries to talk like he's getting better; but the effort is always too much and it takes its toll on him, with broken eyes and weary lips… in the end, it always end the same way. But that's for neither of us to say.

I can't hurt him the way she did, but in some ways, I already do.

Because I'm just not enough.

_viii_

**104. age **( tomoko tane – _broken wings_ )

Nobody can technically say 'act your age' to them – they don't remember.

They take this forgetfulness in two ways – positively, acting like horny teenagers that screw each other like rabbits, kids that aim spitballs at Saïx's head, and old people who act maturely and reminisce in exploits that were never done, lying those pretty lies that sparkled on her face and his eyes.

And they take it negatively – wondering if they could have done a lot of things in the past – pubs, drinking, sex, strip clubs and discos. They can reflect bitter dreams that never happened. They can assume identities that collapsed within shattered dreams. They can lament the life that they never knew they lived.

So they have a leeway, they act spoilt and childish, they act mature and grown up. They can take a joke and rise to the bait, they can blank and ignore while focusing on the main task. They're a mixture of ages because they've got no idea who the Hell they really are.

But if this enigma is all they've got in their nonexistent world, then they'll take it – spitting spitballs at Saïx with more velocity each time.

_viii_

**33. dream **( wolfsheim – _kein zurück_ )

She does not dream. Dreams are fickle and meaningless and the images, haunted portraits that come to life are nightmares. Nightmares hold meaning. They show fear and creep within the corpse's skin like worms crawling on a coffin's flesh.

The walls are painted with blood, dripping from her knife that flies, splattering a new canvas, broken chords singing in the thick air.

For you see, Larxene was her own nightmare, and she is too caught in the realm of make believe to not realize that she is her own downfall.

_viii_

**70. cry **( rammstein – _sonne_ )

They did not cry. They could not cry, for they were soldiers who lacked emotion.

Faces were blank, impossibly so, as they killed with no mercy, their pitiful excuse that it was all for the _Cause._ The _Cause_ that Demyx hated, the _Cause_ that Larxene began to question. Children's blood would splatter onto their faces, tarnishing their angelic white faces, their devilishly charming voices.

They did not have emotion. But they had hearts – ones that pulsed and pumped their bodies with blood in guilt they could not feel.

Demyx often stood out in the rain after his missions, his face impassive and expressionless, his element washing away the stains away, except he could still _feel_ the blood that slithered in between his skin and the leather jacket.

He said that the rain cried for him, and he could feel it on his face.

Larxene replied that he thought that they had hearts – therefore they _could_ cry.

He looked sharply on her, anger that showed irritation at her, a bolt that she had never seen on his usually goofy face. "Don't be stupid."

He saw the two as different things, one physical, and the other mental, painted so clearly like black on white.

"I may have said we have hearts – I never said we had emotions."

And soldiers that risked everything for their cause would _always_ have a heart, but then they killed their emotions that were contained within them.

It's a sad tragedy that only some people were able to realize.


	9. ix

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**22. lock **( e nomine – _das omen_ )

He can't control his mouth – that's the way he's always been. He says what he thinks, and that's something Larxene likes, who says pretty lies that infuriate the other members.

He blurts, he stutters, he stumbles… he's never been one for keeping a secret. He hints at a secret and says the wrong thing, even if he doesn't tell the _whole_ of his secret – it's sometimes partially revealed.

And really, that's okay. Larxene grins. She can use that, manipulate it and spread rumours.

Since Demyx can't keep his mouth shut, rifts are easily formed, and no one has the heart to take him for a fool, no one has the heart to believe them. Words spread quickly, and chaos is created, Larxene's desired effect gained, and she grins, two poisonous red leaves curling into a feral smile.

Success.

Yet, for all those secrets, and failing to contain everything under lock and keep… he can maintain his silence about what happens in the bedroom, grinning when the time comes.

_ix_

**36. see that girl **( crystal kay – _konna ni chikako de_ )

"Demyx, you are such a pervert."

"Oh, _I'm_ the pervert… so why are you joining me, _Axel_?"

"You know, bored and stuff – that and wondering why you're here in Castle Oblivion?"

"Shh! We're nearly there. We need to be _covertly quiet._ This is a top secret mission."

"From her or from all the other big boys who want to see Larxene in the shower, _monsieur peeping tom_?"

"You have a _terrible accent._"

"And your voice is too nasal. What are ya gonna do about it?"

"Nothing. Come on, already – she's nearly done with—"

"… Dem, who set you up to this?"

"Luxord and Xigbar. Dare. Lost at cards. Stupid? I know, but I was bored."

"Can't blame you, already done it."

"What was your task?"

"Seeing if the Superior wore any underwear – you don't want to know the story or the outcome – _we_ want to see Larxene naked. _Now_."

"Right. Let's do this."

—

"_Zap!_ … Axel? _Demyx?_ What the hell are you trying to do!"

"Aw, crap. We're caught."

"When I tell you, oh beautiful vixen, Larxene, just remember: it was _Axel's_ idea, not mine."

_ix_

**93. pages of music **( asian kung fu generation – _rewrite_ )

She would always be unexplored territory. She would be untouched, like crisp pages of music, unwritten within the brilliant mind of the master musician, never left to dust, but there, fresh and new and waiting for drops of ink to be spilled onto the blank canvas.

Nothing could be erased from her palette, and blood could not stain her pretty face, batted in flirtatious manners of thick eyelashes.

So she danced and she threw her dainty weapons with the flick of her wrist, and while he struggled with difficulty, trying to maintain the rhythm – going back, erasing, moving forward, rewriting to try and achieve perfection.

But she was not a masterpiece, and he would never be able to find the beat of her heart within the notes of her echoed footsteps.

_ix_

**106. rubber ducky** ( l'arc en ciel – _ready steady go_ )

Bath times were always fun.

Mainly because Larxene had made a compromise with Demyx – if he could have a rubber ducky in the bath, then she could have bubbles and other floral bathroom essentials. Demyx wondered if this was just to satisfy the 'Nymph' part of her, but wisely never said anything.

It was kinda cool, too; since Demyx could control water, and hilariously, he could control bubbles too (having a molecular structure comprised of water) he could make them float and stay on her hair, while not popping. The rubber duck was evil, however. And Larxene did not like it, one bit. Sure, she could ignore it while there were make out sessions, (and further activities), and by that time, the voyeuristic ducky had been thrown out of the bath and the bubbles had long since gone…

Like he said, bath times were _always_ fun.

_ix_

**74. scream **(okiayu ryoutaro & orikasa fumiko – _listen to one story_ )

A _Barney _video. Duct tape. Hand cuffs. Cheese sandwiches.

And a naked Axel to top if off. On her bed. Incidentally, he was making various sexual poses, draped in flowers and garments, trying to encourage a _ménage à trois_.

"… what the hell?"

Demyx looked smug. "_This _is how we take over the Organization."

"And _Axel?_"

"Oh, he tagged along. Now, he's been a good friend, so I say he doesn't get it as bad as the other lot."

"Okay…" Larxene took a deep breath. "Explain it to me: nice and slow."

Demyx rubbed his hands, glee shining in his eyes. Axel took this as an opportunity to make another pose from the Karma Sutra.

"We handcuff—"

"_Kinky."_ Axel purred.

"—each and every member, excluding us to a chair. Put duct tape on their eyes to prevent them from shutting them. And then let them watch _Barney_ over and over again. It might be terribly sad and oh so woefully depressingly happy – but it'll break them since it'll be on automatic rewind and will slowly deteriorate their hope. And we'll convince them to let us rule. And we'll live happily ever after, rulers of Organization XII."

"Dem, there's a lot of unexplained stuff in that _brilliant_ plan of yours. Say – how exactly do we get them on a chair? And, how will handcuffs not prevent them from escaping?"

"Well, I'll admit there's a lot of unresolved matter, but, I'm sure we'll think of something. We always do. That's why we have Axel. We can test him with this plan. And hey, he could join us."

"In getting _laid_?" Axel waggled his eyebrows, suggestive.

Larxene could have screamed. Maybe she should have gone to Marluxia instead. These two were insufferable!

"No Axel." Larxene gave him a tight smile, approaching his naked body. "You're going to be our dummy. To see if all this… _stuff_ can break you."

"Oh, crap." It was extraordinarily hilarious to see how fast Axel could in fact become pale than his usual skin colour. But! It was too late. The naked Axel had been handcuffed to the bed.

But something was missing…

"What about the sandwiches?" Larxene asked, wondering how they could be part of the _thoroughly _explained plan.

Demyx shrugged, offhandedly saying. "Oh, them… yeah. I'm hungry. Wouldn't you be after developing this ingenious plan?"

_ix_

**43. killjoy **( kaneda tomoko – _every fight_ )

… it's a habit. She's sadistic. It comes to reason that she'll do it.

She'll wipe the floor with his back, stain the windows with his blood, and break his sitar when he's in a particular _happy_ mood. She'll crush every little thing that seems to be giving him optimism and wear that _stupid_ grin on his face.

She will _kill_ every human, every existence, every thing that gives him a small semblance of _joy_.

She'll punch, smash, kill, bite, tear, rip and electrocute him – just for the cheerful sparkle in his pretty, pretty eyes.

He annoys her, and she seethes in his presence.

(Axel mutters that she's a schoolboy, pulling Demyx's pigtails.)

Oh. It's not personal. She assures the crestfallen look on his face.

It's just _jealousy._

_ix_

**30. experiment **( kosuke toriumi – _science show_ )

Everybody knows that they shouldn't go down into the science labs. _Especially_ if that person is Demyx, number nine of the elite Organization.

But then, he has been known for breaking rules and expectations… to fulfil his… _curiosity._

However, as he surveys the white labs, clean and tidy with test-tubes and various equations, there isn't a lot of interest in the air. No mysterious _do not touch_, or any other form of variant, such as _eat, use in special occasions, spill in Saïx cup of tea_—nothing!

… although there _was_ a motto for the day, and task arrangements for the geeky scientists.

"Gee, Zexion always says that this place is wonderful…" Pouting, he looks at unethical stuff – corpses, bodies, rats, floating hearts and the labels that show intricately made instructions. "I don't see what's so great about it."

His hand lingers on the objects he passes – wiping dust away and leaving a trail.

"Hey, _lullaby_." A sharp voice shocks him, unconsciously making him grab the nearest test tube – and, as he twirls to the direction of the voice behind him, his grip loosens…

… letting the unnamed test-tube break and the contents spill on her flat yellow hair.

"Wow." He notes. "You have a really hard head."

"Never mind about that." Larxene growls, her gloved hand trying to pull at the liquid on her hair and the shards of glass. "_What_ did you just throw at me?"

"Um…" He looks, and finds no label, of any sort. Just a word – _experimental_.

Damn. Not even the scientist knew!

"… something not fatal?" He offers her a weak smile.

"All I was meant to do was tell you that we're having a meeting. Not get _something not fatal_ in my hair! What if I go bald, idiot? I'm not a frickin' skinhead!"

"… I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, well, you don't sound like it." She gruffly says, smoothing her hair, attempting to make the best of a spoiled hair style. She scowls. "I'll ask the _elders_ to help me – see if they can concoct a solution or something."

"Er." He makes a mental note to stay away from her for a few days. "Let's just go to the meeting."

And unbeknownst to Larxene, her hair begins to lighten, and mutate and rise to form antennas.

After all, crazy people have hairstyles born from experiments that have gone wrong. Larxene is no exception.

_ix_

**4. notion **( sakamoto chika – _kaze no uta_ )

She feels light-headed at the concept, ridiculously silly and giggly. It must be Demyx's influence. He's made her… loose and relaxed. Not that's a bad thing, she thinks as she watches him move energetically about, exercising the mouth that she would so desperately like to kiss at the moment.

"… I totally would!" She tries to tune in and blinks.

"Wait. Say that again."

"If the moon really was made out of cheese, I would eat it."

… and maybe the notion of punching his face for his stupidity sounds more reasonable than kissing him.

Of course, she giggles as she takes him by surprise. His fault, obviously.

_ix_

**28. bluebells** ( hikari sasuhou – _back on_ )

He puts bluebells on her grave. They're nice flowers, he thinks, as he sprinkles just enough to see them grow and bloom before him, the petals outstretched. They remind him of the colour of her eyes.

And their shape is reminiscent of her voice, pealing out taunts as easily as opening an orange, shredded into pieces.

The way the flowers hang their head – low and ashamed, downcast while swaying in the wind and rain – is just another reminder of how Larxene victimized people, making them so sick and disgusted and horrified with each other that they are unable to look at anyone in the eye.

She looks fragile, just like that flower, but within lay a strength that no one could fathom.

He scratches the back of his head, wondering if he really should have made a memorial, with a single flower to say goodbye.

Because Larxene won't remember him, and that flower will not remember who had planted it there.


	10. x

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**56. attention seeker **( emmy rossum – _slow me down_ )

He wants to be heard. She wants to be seen.

It's the simple truth on black on white on black and white again.

He'll blow bubbles on the tips of his fingertips, forming pretty shapes that bloom and burst; she'll give people who annoy her enough static to give themselves a shock. He'll flood the bathroom; she'll cause a power cut.

They face the punishment with empty faces and dulled hearts – they have the attention, but not in the way they sought. They want gossip and giggles and rumours and pranks and teasing and all the people with _friends_ do with each other. They want to live in the way their predecessors did, with smiles and laughter floating in the air.

Pity they never paid attention to each other, too concerned with their selves.

Because they're chasing invisible ghosts that will never be caught.

_x_

**10. to and fro** ( chicken bump – _karma_ )

He never ran _away_. He always ran _to._

He ran _to _the setting sun, never mind that a dozen villagers were hunting him down with burning candlesticks. He ran _to_ the end of the labyrinth, racing against a ticking clock that threatened to destroy the rhythm of music. He ran _to_ a new adventure, his hardships building his story and strength, as he remembered them with a laugh and pained look in his eye.

He didn't leave them behind… they just failed to catch up. After all, he was the current that always moved about, never ending like waves on a beach, back and forth, to and fro, they make a pretty sound as he pitter-pattered across the swirling waves.

And when he reached his destination, gasping for breath, his cheeks flushed and as he placed his hands on his knees, he saw a shadow that he knew so well, that when he looked up, a grin had found its way back on his cheerful face.

Because, no matter what happened, he always ran _to_ Larxene.

She was his goal; and he longed to reach her.

_x_

**63. zen master** ( the offspring – _(can't get my) head around you _)

The first time he sees her he thinks she looks like a doll. Pretty and porcelain with glossy lips and glassy eyes, she seems to be a picture of perfection, still and unmoving. There's a sparkle in her eye, electric blue that adds to her allure, a trace of instability – but that must be a trick of the light. Her red lips are half-curled and her legs are slanted, and oh, there's a desire to put her on a shelf and never let her down.

He thinks she's calm, cool as a cucumber and a master at Zen.

He nearly goes to say 'hi' and introduce himself with a smile and point and an offered handshake, but then the meeting starts and he has to sigh and watch her out of the corner of his eye. Meetings are never meant to be actually _listened_ to, after all.

When she opens her mouth, Demyx has no idea how wrong he is.

_x_

**20. hello kitty **( natalia lesz – _fall_ )

She sleeps like a kitten, curled up into a round ball, warm and soft and somehow cuddly in her slumber. Her lines of malice and spite that trace her jaws and eyes when she's awake are gone, a content smile on her face.

She snuggles, sometimes, giggling under her breath.

She doesn't purr, but if Demyx tickles a certain _spot_, then she certainly clings on to him tighter, her lips nearly pressing against him.

But no matter what her dream was, or the mood she had been in within her sweet slumber is always ruined when Demyx cannot help but tease her with a kiss on her pointy catlike ears and whisper. "Hello kitty."

As a reply, she narrows her eyes, and electrocutes him, murmuring dangerously, _"Meow."_

_x_

**49. beep **( ayumi hamasaki – _days _)

Her antennas are out of this world. They twitch and point to wherever Demyx is – whenever he's in danger or if he's being mercilessly preyed upon. It annoys her because if she doesn't cooperate with their 'pushing', then they tug the root hair, eliciting gasps of pain for the Savage Nymph.

It's almost like a painful _beep_, as they urge her to chase the damned Nocturne and save him from whatever perilous _danger_ he may be in.

So with her hands on her hips, she strides forward and with a bored expression on her face, she beats up the tormentor.

("_He's __**mine**__, got that?")_

Then she grabs his ear and drags him out of the room, where she dutifully shouts at him; and he stares with amusement or admiration. Honestly, she doesn't know what she is to him: a sister or a knight in saving armour.

And he gives her a grin and has the _nerve_ to hug her—

"When I count to ten, you better start running." She grits out.

Then, he decides to kiss her cheek. The moron.

"That's it! You're _dead!_"

To hell with patience and saving the Nocturne – she's going to zap him with all she's got.

Damn antennas.

_x_

**5. rags to riches** ( yellow generation – _tobira no mokou he_ )

There was always a scheme. A bigger picture. Trying to get from Point A to Point B, whether it was from 'rags to riches', 'heartless to with a heart' or 'Nobody to Somebody' – she was always trying to get from one place to another.

For her, life was a giant path of stepping stones, often misleading and could have various outcomes. Some were firm and easy to step on; others were slippery but still attainable. And then there were some who were absolute idiots and plunged straight into the water, soaking the person who was about to lose their temper.

And Xemnas was one such person – she had figured it out in her crafty mind. He wasn't going to _give_ them a heart – he was going to give them damnation – and she wasn't going to stand for that. From fool to genius, it was just another path in life.

If she was going to go somewhere, heaven or hell, she preferred if she was the one who built her house of cards—waiting for the wild card to topple her to the ground.

_x_

**71. potential **( oku hanako – _garnet_ )

She chases butterflies to waste away time, searching for that that cannot be reached.

He chases moths in starlit cities, clinging to hope that someone _– anyone_ – would recognise the person he used to be.

It's an unconventional circle, the day and the night, never meeting, never reaching, but it makes the time fly. They'll waltz and march and tango to this tune, to eternity if they have to, waiting for no one but time itself.

It's not much, but it's a start to find their selves, because they could be so much more.

_x_

**99. sneakers **( ono daisuke & kamiya hiroshi – _boku no subete_ )

There must be a reason as easy to figure out as eating a pie. The explanation must be clear and simple to understand.

But for the life of them, they can't figure it out!

And Xemnas is much displeased, while Larxene and Demyx grin – in matching colours that add that hint of glamour to their corpses.

"Demyx! Larxene!" The members roar in outrage at the sight before them. "Why the hell have you gone against the uniform?"

("They look so _cool!_" Roxas admires, wondering if he can get a pair.)

"Um…" Demyx blinks. "… I felt like it?"

"If it helps," Larxene adds in a scapegoat, just for enjoyment. "Marluxia was the one who convinced me that pink was totally my colour."

Xemnas sizzles.

_x_

**34. morning dew **( amplified – _mr. raindrop_ )

She likes to wake up late, curling up into the pillow and steal all the bed covers. She snuggles, she sighs, she shifts and shuffles and eventually kicks him off the bed – still asleep with a _sly_ smile on her face, adorned in utter innocence that all suspicion that Demyx previously has vanishes.

And really, that's okay. He doesn't mind that because he likes getting up early and shower and just… watch her. She's like a child asleep, peaceful and cheeky with a dash of adorability. The image reminds him of nymphs, creatures of nature – vivid imagery of water and flowers coming to mind.

—it is precisely for this reason that Demyx brings flowers to her, sprinkling the morning dew on her nose to wake her up.

It makes her sneeze.


	11. xi

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**86. say cheese! **( hitohira – _smile_ )

It's his damn smile. It dazzled her under its allure of shininess. Yes! Like a magpie to shiny stuff, she was attracted to his smile that made her stomach _flutter!_

And during his _diabolical_ scheme – that made her all _floaty_ and _light-headed_ and _giggly_ – he took advantage of her! Of course he did. Not with Luxord's debonair manner, which were kisses and smooth tones of his dulcet voice – and had no affect whatsoever on her, but Demyx – damned conniving _little_—in a sneakier manner had made her _swoon _with that puppy like grin.

And just as she was coming to her senses, another flash sparkled upon her pretty blue eyes, his body too close and looped around her – the water snapping the shutter without infiltrating the camera.

"Smile for the camera." He'd whisper in her ear, seconds before glomping her, saying _"cheese!"_

_Flash!_

There she was left, in a stupor, her nerves slowly functioning as she began to blink and realize her surroundings. And a growl worked itself up her throat, bloodlust in air as she remembered what she had been manipulated into.

"Demyx, I'm _going to kill you!"_

And that damn smile stopped her in her tracks. Then she noticed a _horrible_ _thing._

He had dimples.

_xi_

**101. martini **( moka – _lilium saint_ )

It's just another day; another day where he's thought to be a clumsy and idiotic member, and he is so sick of that. He's sick of being considered dumb and stupid and slow and unintelligent.

He is something _better_ than that.

He is _someone_ better than that.

And so he drinks, his world a blur; the liquid in the martini swirling around and around like a merry-go-round and suddenly, it's spinning far too fast and he's not sure that there's any more alcohol in his glass. He's not even certain if the glass has remained unbroken – his wrist hurts.

Ivory white bones hold onto his wrist, covered by ebony gloves. He recognises the touch, hard and controlling with just a tad too much pressure, a lick of seduction. He recognises her, that moving shadows of blue electricity, but cannot place the name to face.

He cannot say when lips are on lips and hands are roaming on uncharted territory that's already been explored. He cannot tell who is crying or where he is. He can feel rain on his skin and static in his hair, but everything is… vague.

Ice slides down his back (or is it hers?) and he feels…

… bitter truth.

He could be something _better_; he could be _someone_ better.

But it's just another day, and when he wakes up alone with the bed sheets cast aside, nothing's changed.

Except lipstick that lingers on a martini on the window ledge.

_xi_

**60. pets **( tommy heavenly6 – _pray_ )

"I like rabbits."

She snorted. "Demyx, you _are_ a rabbit."

"Then… you're a weasel?"

Sighing, she flicked another page. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Mm… I think so. You called me a rodent, I called you a rodent. And since rodents stick together—"

"—and sell each other out." Larxene sang.

"I just meant that we're two of the same kind, see if we're rodents, small and cute and furry, then we'll always survive and come out on top."

"I know that… so your point _is_?"

"Can we keep it?"

"What?" She glanced at his direction, where he was coddling the fluffy bunny. Her expression softened, although he didn't realize. "Oh _Dem…_"

"Yeah?"

"Only if we get a cat."

_xi_

**92. life or death **( milton nascimento – _angelus_ )

They were exotic, strong, powerful and unpredictable.

Left and right, they swarmed and attacked and killed in powerful strides, arms outstretched, their intent clear as blood on water.

The way they moved, the way they killed, in frenzies and passion and striving to reach their goals… they were an unstoppable combination. Lightning and water mixed well, and they had just enough tempo to make people fizzle into oblivion. They were a flurry of death dancing into the corridors until it became flooded with the current, electrocuting people to their death.

For them, their teamwork was a dance.

For others, it was life coming to its dramatic end.

_xi_

**18. gatecrasher **( yoo seung jun – _shut up!_ )

They are headstrong and impulsive.

They never think things through, always action and never thought. But it's romantic and unpredictable and no one has any idea what's going to happen next. She'll smile and laugh and put her hand on his arm, curling up so she's comfortable.

Like bombshells, they crash and collide and shit happens. They hit the fan. They get in trouble. And then the sheepish grin and cheeky smiles arrives. And then making out. Further making out.

And then—

With funky glasses and jazzy outfits, they'll twist and turn and fit into a perfect picture; impish grins always at the ready. He takes her hand, and she leads the way.

They never get invited to parties.

They gatecrash and have the time of their life.

Because they grab life by the balls; death always at the corner, arbitrarily waiting for the time they let go.

_xi_

**1. apples **( round table – _let me be with you_ )

He liked to give her apples, delectable shiny fruits that shone that healthy red colour, plucked sneakily from Marluxia's garden.

She was no stranger to sin; recognising the symbolism from the first moment that Demyx had carelessly tossed her the red fruit, a subtle glint in his eye, hidden by his cheerful gleam.

She knew what it meant.

Temptation; sin; falling from the tree – things that were different and decided to wreak havoc in things that were originally a set pattern; Larxene broke every single one of the damn rules.

One apple, one bite, one kiss, one night stand. A pattern that began by noon and ended at night, intended to be repeated the very next day.

She ate the apple every single time.

_xi_

**40. topaz** ( hyde – _it's sad_ )

He knows madness, he knows injustice, and he knows the cracks and crevices that lie on her skin.

It's written in clouds of smoke, hazy and poisonous to his throat. It binds him, and chokes him, and eventually he falls to his death.

—

There are lines that divide them and make them unique.

There are bridges that cross paths and make them similar.

It's in a jewel, pretty as topaz, that shows another side, another story, left forgotten.

For however well you think you know someone, there's always a part that completely takes you by surprise.

—

She knows sanity, she knows innocence, and she knows the tricks and tools to use to break him into pieces.

Through the smoke she smiles coldly, releasing the poison that will eventually kill him and she shall watch to the very end. Mission accomplished.

She must rid the Organization of the traitors; but she never thought of him.

_xi_

**84. carousels **( mikuni shimokawa – _all the way_ )

They were far too pretty for each other, and like a carousel they played a merry game.

They were the horse lampooned in the middle, standing almost side by side, rising and falling as the music commanded them to. They were the pictures in the merry-go-round, circling and circling each other, never touching, never seeing eye-to-eye – seeing the world in different levels.

They were children in their innocence, children in their misguided ways, and children in how everything was new to them in their new form. They rode in chariots, garnished in pride and some sort of superiority, with the aid of their powers.

They spun in circles, sometimes brushing past each other, sometimes waving, sometimes clinging on for dear life as they continued in their unstable game.

Up, down, left, right.

They never once considered what would happen after the ride had ended.

_xi_

**13. quick **( ai maeda – _the beautiful world_ )

The words are never quick, never said too fast or rushed. Demyx says them with precision and care, the words tangible on his tongue and to Larxene they are like poison dripping through her mouth, spilling into her throat.

"I love you." He says, with butterfly kisses down her neck, caressing her skin. "I love you."

Her fingers slice his skin, like her kunais running through an open wound. He is close to her heart, but she is much closer to his.

"No," she smiles softly, fragmented enough to fade away. "You don't."

If he hears her, then he ignores the words she speaks. He fears, that if he processes it, he'll lose that part of himself that he once had. But he's fickle and like his thoughts that pass fleetingly through his mind, quick like lightning and slow like water… they eventually are forgotten. Or, perhaps not.

Maybe he means it… maybe he doesn't. Maybe she doesn't believe him… maybe she does.

Words, like thoughts, can sometimes mean nothing at all. But they can be said perfectly with an elegant grace of falsity.


	12. xii

**verisimilitude **

* * *

**98. boink **( nobody knows – _hero's come back )_

She talks too much, constantly nattering about things that have no meaning. She whines and wails and moans and complains, with a smile that doesn't quite fit her face.

She's violent and aggressive and decides to chase chequered floorboards that have run black because of so much blood. She screams and roars and claws, her nails raking into her skin, waiting for red blood that should pour out of her body like a fountain of water, spilling the eternal contents of water until it turns stagnant.

She stamps and breaks and she tears and destroys; making a racket and leaves destruction in her realm, shattering glass and leaving portraits asunder, wrath from the heavens.

She's testing her limits.

Until she runs into Demyx, drifting about in his pacifying melody, the rhythm flowing through his nonexistent blood, stuck in his head. He grabs her, an easygoing smile on his face, beleaguered puzzlement in his eyes, though still warm… and unnerved.

"Hey," he says, "when are you going to come back to earth?"

"What does that mean?" She snarls, wrenching her hand out of his grasp.

"Nothing. If you want. I'm just wondering when this…" and he gestured artlessly at her strops and anger management problems, "… is going to stop. You keep floating in la-la land of the crazies and you'll never go back."

"You go to _la-la land,_ you dork." She snipes back, seething a little bit.

"Nuh-uh. Well…" He considers this. "… if I do, then at least it has tasteful music that I can appreciate."

"…" She is silent for a minute, before turning her head high. "Whatever."

"Hey, don't make me boink you!" He solemnly says, his mouth quirking just a little bit.

"And what—" Sapphire blue eyes narrow, and she turns back, marching up to him; he does not flinch, preferring to just stare with a dull but cheeky look, "—does _that_ mean?"

"Well…" He leans in so his finger can lift her chin and his lips are so close they could be touching. "… that _really_ depends on how you _interpret_ it."

And for one second, Larxene thinks that he just might kiss her.

"What do you_ want_ it to mean_?"_

_xii_

**59. hooked** ( nightmare – _the world_ )

It was amazing how quickly Demyx became hooked onto things. The latest fads, the newest songs, and sometimes he brought back previous addictions because he thought they were cool.

For days he would talk endlessly about it, far more important than mission, far more worthy of his presence. Why, sometimes, he stayed up all night listening to the song or playing with videogames, hell, once he _broke_ a damn wall because he kept flinging it too many times.

The worst part was that he lost his fad, often leaving it behind where the members eventually became curious and decided to test it, see if it really was _worth_ becoming addicted over. It was a truly fatal mistake. When he came back, after actually doing his mission, he was different.

By then he had become hooked onto something else. The man-boy-creature was fickle.

And the rest of the Organization had become hooked, much to their chagrin.

_xii_

**85. flowers** ( pearl kyoudai – _hitori bocchi_ )

There's something vaguely romantic about Demyx singing while strumming his guitar as Larxene lies in a hammock, swaying left and right, her nose wrinkling as sunlight catches her button nose.

… it could almost be called domestic.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Demyx says, earning a laugh from the Savage Nymph, "this song I would like to dedicate to a very special lady… the one and only… _Larxene!_"

She claps, cooing and amused. An eyebrow rises. "Do you want me to hand you the flowers now or later for your stunning performance?"

"Ah, thank you, thank you very much."

"Can it. You're no Elvis Presley, you know."

… then again, domestic romance doesn't involve ruining Marluxia's garden as revenge for his earlier 'married couple' comment.

_xii_

**75. hit the fan** ( t.a.t.u – _all the things she said_ )

He hates the way that she can make everyone melt their composure and hit the fan, reduced to nothing more than pieces of shit, with only a few words that escape her harlot mouth.

She loves the way he collapses before her very eyes, his wide innocent eyes crushed as she slowly develops pretty lies to spin over him. She watches in utter fascination in how he crumbles; his next reaction never predictable.

He can't understand why she's like a vulture to him; plucking out every little morsel until he's nothing but bones.

She thinks he's stupid, a fool, but somehow he's _interesting_ as she dissembles him with his idiotic beliefs.

He destroys her as his hope replenishes, never fading; she devastates him as her words pierce that hollow thing called 'his heart'.

In different ways, they make each other's lives Hell.

_xii_

**62. reborn** ( doctor who – _doomsday_ )

It came, suddenly out of the blue, like a dazed discovery, a realization that had always been there, but never seen.

So great was the epiphany, that Demyx stopped talking and Larxene glanced in his direction, slightly perturbed.

"I think I'm a virgin again!"

"Excuse me?"

"I used to have _hundreds_ of scars, the fans in my previous life, what can I say, they were _wild_." She didn't like that grin on his face, and make an impromptu decision to wipe it off as soon as this curious subject was plucked apart. "So, yeah, I lost mine a long time ago. Anyways, when I wake up – my body is as clean and soft as a baby's bottom… and all those scars are gone."

"No!" She whispered in a conspiring tone. "They can't be."

"So, here's what I think. The darkness – and the Heartless – recreated our bodies. We have no scars—"

"What about Xigbar, and Saïx."

"Oh, they pissed each other off one day, you know how it is."

"Uh-huh…" She was willing to let it go, just this once.

"—and so, we are now virgins."

"Huh. Weird."

"So," He rubbed his hands and clapped her back. "Ya want to lose it again?"

What happened next was completely his fault.

The rest of the Organization knew. He was very, very _loud_.

_xii_

**16. better me than you **( hollywood undead – _circles_ )

She was glad she died first. It was a selfish and terrible thought to have, but it was true nonetheless.

If she hadn't… the emotional control that she reigned so easily and smoothly over herself would be gone, disintegrating as he was the only person who kept her sane, saw her as an equal. He feared her, he loved her. Not like God, but something close, something different.

Lightning would have crackled whenever she blinked, shot from her fingernails and fingertips whenever she twitched. Eventually, her body would have deprived her of sleep, and she would not be able to drink water any more.

Her body would have been in a constant state of pain, far worse than an absence of emotion.

No, she thought as the last blow struck her, hard and cold, it was better that she died first, than live long enough to see Demyx die.

She would not have been able to bear it.

_Better me than you, Dem. Always._

_xii_

**47. the sky burns **( hongo yui – _my wish_ )

He doesn't like her eyes. They're like the sky when thunderstorms arrive, clouding her vision with a myriad of emotion; raw and sharp and bitter, burning from dusk to dawn in a menagerie of hate and spite.

He can see everything when he looks into her eyes. The sun, the moon, the earth, the sky… and it scares him. Her wishes keep him awake at night, because if he dreams he can deliver it with such perfect clarity that he doesn't want to do it.

When she's angry, the red flush that's spread over her cheeks is nothing like the sight of her eyes burning away fires that threaten to take away the sky from copper blood and rusted iron. He can taste the tangible metal in his mouth and it sickens him—

—he never remembers what happens after that, staring at her celestial eyes. People say he gets into a trance, but he doesn't believe them.

He wants to touch her, brush her shoulder or hold her hand.

But he doesn't.

He doesn't.

Because it feels like she'll fall apart into a thousand shards and the sun will never shine again, burning his back with ochre ire.

_xii_

**32. a normal day?** ( minori chihara – _select?_ )

"Honey, I'm home!" Demyx called, walking through the doors, immediately embraced by his loving wife.

"I'm so glad! How was work today?" Larxene asked, her mouth pressed together in a hopeful look, and tucked under his chin.

"Oh, you know. Hard. All for the greater good. You know how it is." He replied, looking at her before kissing her heavily. "Now, where are the kids?"

"Anthony! Antonia! Charles! Charlotte! George! Georgina! And the rest of you unisex named children, be it alphabetical or whatever – _daddy's home!"_ Larxene called, snapping her fingers and bursting the fuse.

"Daddy!" The room suddenly became a lot more crowded, a mass of hands reaching their parents in any attempt to touch them. It appeared that his wife's constant caging of them had not changed their affection for her in the slightest.

"I killed a man today!" One said, showing Larxene's teeth.

"Aw, that's wonderful, William. First animals, then man, then worlds. You'll be a fine Nobody." He said fondly, ruffling the pointy teeth child's head.

"Daddy, I drew a picture!" Another chimed in, cheeks brightening and raising it in the air. "It's of you destroying another world!"

"Thanks, Williamina." He grinned and waved it proudly in the air. "I'm gonna stick this on the window!"

—

"You think?" Axel asked, putting in a hundred munny.

"Those two? Nah." Xigbar added four hundred and fifty in the deposit.

"Oh, I don't know. Love is in the air." Luxord sighed wistfully, collecting the munny. "When those two eventually get together, you will be regretting that bet you took against me. Still, more munny for me, so I mustn't complain…"

—

"Dammit!"

"… they better not have that many children…"

"Wouldn't it be more plausible if _Demyx_ was the wife?"

_xii_

**9. twelve **( miyamura yuuko – _it's only the fairy tale_ )

What begins must also end. It's a universal rule: the twisted fairytale, the broken silence.

It starts within corridors filled with darkness in searing kisses and electrifying touches. It starts with fantasies that spread out like fairy's wings. It starts with silence and ends in noise, two loud breaths with a heart that threatens to beat between them. It's a pattern of flesh and blood and whispers and murmurs and teases and touches and the list could go on forever.

They dream of freedom, a place where they are allowed to love, where they are allowed to believe what they want, without a cage to bind them in this _controlled _state.

Flutterbies in the sky and jabberwockies at their fingertips, wonderful and fearful creations born from their mind come alive in the whisper of the night, for their mind, unrefined and beautifully tragic, cannot be tamed, and spells of enchantment glimmer in the sparkle of their eyes.

But when the clock chimes twelve… all those magical glimpses in wings and doves and apples and swirls and crackles and whips and snarls and laughter and bubbles… it ends.

For that is the fate of all things, living or nonexistent.

And they live, in patterns of air, mingling, but unseen.

Nothing really ends, after all. It merely seems that way.

* * *

**a/n.**_ I really enjoyed writing it – each and every one of them. Hope you enjoyed reading._


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